m 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


102. 


e*n  "f 
iiiCJ  <U> 


A  SEQUEL 


TO 


THE    BARON'S    CHILDREN, 


BY 


MRS.    MYERS. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

LINDSAY   &    BLAKISTON. 


SEQUEL 


THE  BARON'S   CHILDREN 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  If  that  way  be  your  walk,  you  have  not  far; 
So  much  the  nearer  danger;  go,  and  speed! 
Havoc,  and  spoil,  and  ruin,  are  my  gain." 

THE  duty  of  family  prayer  was  one  which  was 
never  neglected  at  Steinrode ;  but  on  this,  the 
morning  of  the  Baron's  intended  journey,  it  was 
performed  with  even  more  than  usual  solemnity. 
Although  Faith  teaches  man  to  believe  himself 
ever  an  object  of  care  to  a  superintending  Power — 
as  safely  watched  over  abroad  as  at  home  —  there 
are  few  who  set  out  for  an  absence  of  some  days  or 
weeks,  without  a  thought  of  what  may  happen  in 
that  space  of  time,  and  so  more  earnestly  commend 
themselves  and  their  concerns  to  the  keeping  of  a 
heavenly  Protector.  It  was  therefore  with  deeper 
feeling,  and  more  devotional  importunity  than 
usual,  that  the  prayer  of  this  morning  was  offered, 
petitioning  for  safety  and  a  happy  reunion  ;  or  if 

that,  in  the  hidden  depth  of  purpose  belonging  to 

(13) 


622688 


14        THE  NEIGHBOKS'  CHILDREN. 

Divine  Wisdom,  were  denied,  that  all  might  meet 
around  the  great  throne  in  Heaven ;  that  to  such 
of  them  as  should  be  spared  to  pursue  the  stern 
journey  of  life,  preserving  grace  should  be  given ; 
chastened,  if  needs  be,  but  not  given  over  to  hard- 
ness, or  unbelief;  afflicted,  scourged,  but  not  for- 
saken, or  delivered  up  to  despair.  The  father 
spoke  in  exhortation  to  his  children,  charging  them 
to  be  kind  and  obedient  to  their  mother,  and  care- 
ful to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  temptation  to  err 
from  the  influence  of  bad  example.  He  adverted 
to  the  family  who  were  at  present  under  their  roof, 
and  bade  them  be  cautious  in  their  behaviour 
towards  them.  "They  do  not  see  things  in  the 
same  light  as  ourselves,"  said  he,  "or  they  would 
be  with  us  at  this  moment ;  but  we  trust  that  God 
will  yet  enable  them  to  see  the  true  way.  And  for 
ourselves,  we  know  that  although  '  here  is  no  con- 
tinuing city,'  let  us  bless  Him  that  we  can  yet  look 
forward  to  one,  the  foundations  whereof  are  laid  in 
Heaven — whose  Builder  and  whose  Maker  is  God.' 
What  is  that  mysterious  influence  which  operates 
upon  the  spirit,  and  causes  it  dimly  to  foresee  what 
is  irresistibly  "borne  in  upon  the  mind,"  as  some 
one  has  termed  presentiments  ?  What  secret  inti- 
mation is  given  of  events  to  come,  though  "  clouds 
and  shadows  rest"  upon  the  future?  Man's  boasted 
wisdom  reaches  not  so  far  as  to  solve  the  mystery ; 
and  it  is  a  subject  on  the  elucidation  of  which  he 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  15 

must  remain  ignorant  until,  divested  of  its  veil  of 
flesh,  the  spirit  shall  revel  in  the  full  blaze  of  light 
which  we  believe  was  its  original  inheritance,  and 
which  we  trace  in  the  bright  gleamings  that  occa- 
sionally flash  through  the  darkness  that  envelopes 
this  present  state.  That  "  coming  events  cast  their 
shadows  before,"  we  know  ;  but  cannot  tell  in  what 
manner  the  premonition  is  made  —  whether  from 
internal  consciousness  or  external  agency,  or  the 
immediate  influence  of  some  celestial  guardian, 
commissioned  by  the  universal  Parent  to  watch 
over  man,  and  warn  him  of  the  threatened  danger. 
As  though  it  were  so  in  this  case,  and  the  dark 
cloud  about  to  overshade  was  dimly  foreseen,  all 
were  deeply  impressed  with  the  simple  service  of 
this  morning ;  for  many  times  had  the  sun  to  rise 
and  set  in  floods  of  golden  light  —  many  alterna- 
tions of  night  and  morning  were  to  take  place  — 
many  times  was  the  earth  to  change  her  seasons 
of  fruit  and  flowers  —  before  all  who  knelt  around 
that  family  altar,  should  again  assemble  there. 

Lady  Von  Grosse,  as  yet  not  humbled  by  her 
adversity,  never  appeared  to  bend  the  knee  in 
company  with  that  Christian  family ;  but  the  time 
was  not  far  distant  when  that  proud  spirit  was  to 
be  bowed,  and  exchange  the  stiff  neck  of  rebellion 
for  the  meek  and  child-like  deportment  taught  by 
the  sanctified  use  of  afflictions. 

The  breakfast-table  had  been  withdrawn,  when 
23* 


16  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

Baron  Lindenburg,  now  nearly  ready  to  set  out, 
remembered  some  business  which  he  had  to  transact 
in  the  village  of  Steinrode,  of  which  it  was  neces- 
sary a  message  should  be  sent  back  to  the  castle ; 
he  therefore  proposed  that  the  servant  who  was  to 
accompany  him  on  his  travel,  should  proceed  thither 
with  the  horses,  and  Felix  walk  over  with  himself. 
Much  was  the  boy  delighted  with  the  prospect, 
inasmuch  as  he  promised  himself  a  short  visit  to 
Ehrenfried ;  but  in  this  latter  particular  he  was 
disappointed.  The  day  was  rather  raw  and  chilly, 
and  Felix  had  complained,  the  evening  before,  of 
a  slight  sore  throat.  Yet,  hardy  as  the  young 
pines  upon  their  own  native  hills,  they  never 
thought  of  keeping  within  doors  for  a  trifling  in- 
disposition ;  but  the  careful  mother,  calling  him  to 
her  that  she  might  fasten  his  collar,  and  secure  his 
throat  from  the  damp  atmosphere  by  tying  a  warm 
comforter  around  it,  discovered  that  his  jacket  had 
lost  a  button.  It  was  but  five  minutes'  work  to 
sew  it  on ;  and  while  her  busy  fingers  accomplished 
the  task,  she  bade  him  return  as  quickly  as  possi- 
ble, for  there  was  some  errand  she  wished  him  to 
do  for  herself. 

"Now  Felix,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "I  am  sorry 
to  disappoint  you  of  your  visit  to  Ehrenfried,  but 
it  cannot  be  helped  at  present ;  you  and  Herman 
shall  both  have  holiday  on  Saturday,  but  now  you 
must  come  back  as  quickly  as  possible." 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  17 

"I  will,  mother  dear,"  replied  he;  "don't  I 
always  do  what  you  tell  me  ?"  and  he  lovingly 
threw  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and  looked  up 
with  his  laughing  blue  eyes  into  her  face. 

"Not  always  —  lately"  she  answered,  with  a 
smile,  as  she  passed  her  fingers  through  his  wavy 
hair,  and  removed  the  curls  from  his  fair  forehead, 
where  she  imprinted  more  than  one  maternal  kiss  ; 
and  if  her  mother's  heart  swelled  with  some  pride 
as  her  eyes  rested  on  her  beautiful  boy,  she  might 
well  be  excused  for  the  weakness  —  if  weakness  it 
were  —  for  there  are  few  who  do  not  acknowledge 
the  power  of  beauty.  It  is  a  gift — a  glorious  gift 
from  God  himself,  investing  its  possessor  with  more 
than  earthly  seeming ;  and  if  rightly  appreciated 
by  its  owner,  is  a  powerful  talisman,  making  man 
almost  a  god,  and  woman  an  angel. 

We  have  said  she  kissed  him  again  and  again  — 
did  she  feel  that  she  held  him  in  her  arms  for  the 
last  time?  Did  she  behold  some  dark  brooding 
angel  unfold  his  baleful  wing  over  the  head  of  her 
darling,  and  deem  that  in  those  mother's  kisses 
there  lay  a  charm  that  could  ward  off  the  trea- 
cherous influence  ?  We  know  not  how  this  was, 
but  we  believe  that  the  pious  prayer  breathed  in 
the  secret  chamber  of  that  mother's  heart,  ascended 
up  to  God,  who,  for  good  and  wise  purposes  (in  a 
dark  and  mysterious  providence)  saw  fit  to  shroud 
the  early  days  of  this  beautiful  boy  in  deep  dark- 


18      THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

ness,  and  covered  him  with  the  wing  of  his  protec- 
tion, even  while  he  permitted  his  impulsive  spirit  to 
be  disciplined  in  one  of  the  severest  schools  that 
Adversity  can  teach. 

The  Baron's  leave-taking  was  quiet ;  and  he  felt 
better  at  leaving  his  family  since  they  were  not 
alone.  Lady  Von  Grosse  and  her  children  were 
still  not  thinking  of  removal ;  the  Count  was  ex- 
pected to  be  there  shortly ;  but  better  than  all, 
aunt  Angela  was  again  with  them.  All  seemed 
well,  and  yet  gloom  hung  upon  them,  they  knew 
not  why,  for  the  Baron's  absence  from  home  was 
no  uncommon  thing,  being  often  obliged  to  be  from 
home.  Although  the  day  was  dull  and  gloomy,  it 
threw  none  of  its  chilling  shadow  over  the  bright 
spirit  of  Felix,  who  trudged  along  gaily  by  his 
father's  side,  on  their  way  to  the  village.  A  few 
words  with  Ehrenfried  had  to  serve  in  place  of  the 
hoped-for  visit ;  but  the  prospect  of  the  whole  of 
Saturday  was  enough  to  compensate  for  the  dis- 
appointment. The  Baron  soon  concluded  his 
business  with  the  farmer  whom  he  wished  to  see, 
and  having  given  the  message  he  wished  sent  back, 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  boy's  head  and  gave  him 
his  blessing,  bidding  him,  when  they  parted,  go 
home  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Since  Felix  did  disobey,  it  is  almost  to  be  re- 
gretted that  he  did  not  slight  the  admonition  of 
his  mother,  and  remain  longer  with  Ehrenfried ; 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  19 

but  this  he  did  not  do.  How  necessary  it  is  for 
all  ever  to  keep  in  the  path  of  duty :  had  Felix 
done  so,  what  years  of  misery  had  been  spared ! 
After  parting  with  his  father,  he  set  forth  vigor- 
ously to  retrace  his  homeward  road,  and  had 
already  reached  the  forest  path,  when  he  saw 
Amade  and  Eugene  upon  it.  They  had  left  the 
castle  without  observation,  and  the  former  was 
already  exulting  in  the  success  of  his  scheme,  when 
the  cheerful  voice  of  Felix  hailing  them  from  a 
distance  once  more  recalled  him  to  himself,  and  to 
the  probable  consequences  of  his  perilous  under- 
taking. Muttering  curses  between  his  teeth  as  he 
awoke  to  the  danger  of  his  present  position,  when 
it  should  be  discovered  in  the  search  certain  to  be 
made  for  Eugene  as  soon  as  he  was  missed  at  the 
castle,  that  he  had  been  seen  with  himself  in  the 
forest,  and  so  betrayal  Avas  the  sure  consequence, 
like  all  other  villains,  he  was  obliged  to  seal  his 
first  sin  with  a  second.  Cursing,  therefore,  the 
accident  that  had  thrown  Felix  in  the  way  of  his 
purpose,  he  was  at  the  same  time  resolutely 
determined  to  prevent  his  return  to  the  castle, 
caring  not  for  the  anxiety  he  might  cause,  and 
dreading  only  to  be  found  out.  Dressing  his  face 
in  smiles,  whilst  his  heart  was  trembling  at  the 
thoughts  of  its  own  dark  purpose,  he  repeated  the 
tale  with  which  he  had  already  cheated  Eugene  to 
Felix  when  he  came  up  to  them,  well  knowing  that 


20      THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

the  prospect  of  capturing  a  fox  in  a  trap  would 
not  be  lost  upon  the  lively  boy.  He  was  right. 
The  hasty  impulsive  Felix,  in  his  great  delight  and 
wish  to  see  master  Reynard  outwitted,  forgot  the 
request  of  his  mother,  the  admonition  of  his  father, 
to  return  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  turning  from 
the  path  which  led  to  home  and  safety,  he  followed 
the  insidious  guide  into  the  bosom  of  the  forest, 
where  he  had  said,  and  truly,  that  the  snare  was 
set.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  first  time  in  his  life 
that  Felix  had  so  positively  disobeyed  the  com- 
mand of  his  parents;  but  we  have  before  said  that 
his  unavoidable  companionship  with  Eugene  had 
not  been  without  effect.  His  plastic  nature,  too 
easily  impressed,  had,  in  more  than  one  instance, 
yielded  to  the  force  of  his  bad  example,  although 
he  did  not  love  him  ;  and  now  in  this,  the  last  and 
greatest  departure  from  duty  of  which  he  had 
been  guilty,  punishment,  severe  and  tedious  punish- 
ment, followed  immediately  on  the  commission  of 
the  offence.  It  was  no  doubt  so  ordered,  or  at 
least  permitted,  in  mercy  and  in  love.  Severe  but 
salutary  as  the  chastenings  of  our  Heavenly 
Father  always  are,  who  or  what  suffered  or  gainsay 
their  wisdom,  how  many  have  been  rescued  by 
them  from  the  headlong  road  to  ruin  ;  how  many 
of  the  straying  restored  to  the  right  path. 
"Before  I  was  afflicted,"  said  the  inspired  minstrel, 
"  I  went  astray,  but  now  I  keep  thy  love."  And 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  21 

now  God,  whose  broad  eye  sees  the  end  from  the 
beginning,  loved  the  spirit  he  saw  it  necessary  to 
chasten,  and  sent  the  discipline  in  early  life,  to 
save  that  which  had  brought  forth  no  "  fruit  unto 
holiness"  in  nature,  although  many  faithful  hearts 
had  to  bleed  for  a  time,  and  sorrow  as  those  "with- 
out hope,"  until  the  issue  of  the  great  plot  should 
be  unfolded. 

With  many  tales  of  fox-chasing  and  fox-cunning, 
irresistibly  charming  to  boys  of  their  age,  Amade' 
cheated  the  rugged  way  which  led  them  to  a  differ- 
ent and  more  distant  part  of  the  forest  than  Felix 
had  ever  yet  seen.  Here  the  oaks  stood  thicker 
upon  the  ground,  the  interlacing  branches  and 
spiry  undergrowth,  giving  it  the  appearance  of 
some  primeval  grove,  whose  sylvan  solitude  man 
had  not  dared  to  disturb ;  and  the  same  stream 
that  ran  so  quietly  through  the  castle  garden, 
meeting  with  many  obstacles  from  rocks  and 
inequalities  of  ground,  roared  with  a  voice  like 
that  of  an  angry  spirit  (as  it  rushed  on  its  head- 
long course),  increasing  the  wildness  and  savage 
grandeur  of  the  scene.  Feelings  of  awe  had 
already  begun  to  creep  over  the  boys,  as  is  ever 
the  case  when  Man,  standing  in  the  temple  of 
mighty  Nature,  is  aware  of  the  Divinity  that  rules 
the  spot ;  but  astonishment  was  added  with  almost 
paralysing  effect,  when  Amade,  applying  his  linger 
to  his  lips,  gave  a  shrill  whistle,  which  was  answered 


22        THE  NEIGHBORS  CHILDREN. 

close  by,  and  Dietrich,  the  wild,  frightful,  and 
revengeful  Dietrich,  rushed  forth  from  the  thicket, 
and,  with  a  cry  of  maniac  joy,  threw  himself 
upon  Eugene.  For  him  resistance  would  have 
been  useless,  had  it  been  offered;  but  naturally 
timid,  fright  had  now  rendered  him  powerless,  and 
with  fainting  limbs  and  nerveless  brain,  he  strug- 
gled not  in  the  hands  of  his  captor,  who  bound  him 
hand  and  foot  with  every  demonstration  of  savage 
delight.  No  word  escaped  the  poor  boy's  lips; 
he  had  fully  recognized  Dietrich,  and  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  his  enemy  as  submissively  as  the  dove 
yields  to  the  swoop  of  the  falcon.  Not  so  Felix ; 
his  first  impulse  was  to  fly;  but  Amade,  now  fearing 
nothing  but  his  escape,  soon  overtook  him  ;  and 
although  the  boy  made  stout  resistance,  he  was  at 
length  overpowered  by  superior  strength,  and  a 
handkerchief  was  forced  into  his  mouth  to  stifle 
the  cries  which  he  had  already  sent  forth  into  the 
still  forest,  hoping,  but  vainly,  thereby  to  bring 
some  help.  He  fought  until  overpowered,  for 
Dietrich,  having  easily  disposed  of  Eugene,  now 
came  to  the  assistance  of  Amade,  and  bound  him 
hand  and  foot  with  cords,  with  which,  as  it  seemed, 
he  was  plentifully  provided.  Feeling  how  useless 
the  further  resistance  of  one  weak  boy  against  two 
powerful  men  would  be,  he  yielded  quietly  to  the 
fate,  whatever  it  might  be,  that  awaited  him,  and, 
more  collected  than  his  frightened  companion, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  23 

endeavouring  to  gather  some  light  from  the  con- 
versation of  the  men  who  were  so  unexpectedly 
arisen  as  enemies. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  knave?"  asked  Dietrich 
of  Amade,  with  a  scowl. 

"I  bring  you  two  instead  of  one,"  said  Amade, 
laughing.  "  I  did  not  want  this  fighting  fellow 
any  more  than  yourself;  but  I  could  not  help 
bringing  him.  He  must  not  be  suffered  to  escape, 
for  he  would  go  back  to  the  castle  and  betray  us 
both ;  no,  keep  him  as  close  as  you  can,  at  least 
until  after  I  have  made  tracks  from  this  abomi- 
nable Deutschland.  He  would  be  sure  to  tell 
what  he  saw,  and  nobody  must  know  that  I  had 
anything  to  do  with  Eugene.  But  indeed  I  pity 
the  poor  boy,  for  I  have  always  had  a  liking  for 
him,  and  it  must  have  been  his  evil  genius  that  led 
him  into  my  way  this  morning." 

"A  bad  business,  a  bad  business,"  muttered 
Dietrich  ;  "  what  shall  I  do  with  the  boy  ?  he  does 
not  belong  to  any  part  of  my  plan." 

"  You  must  take  what  you  can  get,  or  give  up 
your  silly  purpose  altogether,"  said  Amade, 
fiercely ;  "  I  have  no  notion  of  putting  my  neck 
into  the  hangman's  noose ;  'tis  a  manner  of  going 
out  of  the  world  I  never  fancied.  You  must  either 
take  both  or  none ;  and  if  you  choose  to  wander 
about  here  as  you  have  been  doing,  you  will  be 
sure  to  be  discovered ;  in  that  case  you  will  be 
24 


24  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

condemned  to  the  death  of  an  incendiary,  before 
you  will  have  had  time  to  accomplish  your  plan  of 
vengeance." 

The  look  of  threatening  bestowed  on  him  by 
Dietrich  awed  him  into  silence ;  but  he  folded  his 
arms,  and  assuming  an  attitude  of  scornful  deter- 
mination, he  waited  until  his  comrade  should  decide 
and  speak. 

It  was  some  time  ere  he  did  so  ;  and  then  again 
much  altercation  ensued.  Dietrich  insisted  that  he 
had  no  wish  to  punish  Felix  along  with  Eugene ; 
he  said  he  knew  what  the  boy's  parents  would 
suffer  from  his  removal ;  ah !  he  only  knew  how 
well  the  grief  occasioned  by  the  loss  of  a  child  — 
his  little  Annie  —  his  only  darling ;  no,  he  had 
vowed  revenge  upon  her  grave,  and  revenge  now 
stood  in  her  stead  to  him — he  could  not,  would  not 
give  up  Eugene,  now  that  he  had  him  in  his  power. 
Amade',  when  he  again  spoke,  represented  the  ex- 
treme imprudence  of  letting  Felix  go  back ;  in  any 
event  he  must  be  kept  some  time  from  home,  whilst 
Dietrich  prosecuted  his  plan  of  carrying  off  Eugene 
to  Poland,  or  at  least  until  his  own  term  of  service 
had  expired,  which  would  be  shortly,  and  he  was 
beyond  all  reach  of  pursuit  in  France,  where  his 
mother  lived.  For  although  he  too  was  kindly 
disposed  towards  Felix,  he  was  not  weak  enough 
to  expect  to  bind  the  boy  to  a  promise  of  secresy 
which  he  would  be  sure  to  break,  since  he  would 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  25 

certainly  tell  how  he  had  met  himself  with  Eugene 
in  the  forest,  and  then  it  could  not  be  but  that  he 
would  suffer  punishment  as  being  an  accomplice 
in  the  abduction  of  the  latter.  "No,  no,"  said 
he,  as  he  concluded  his  argument,  "  there  is  nothing 
else  that  can  be  done ;  Felix  must  share  the  lot  of 
Eugene,  at  least  for  the  present,  or  else  the  whole 
affair  is  at  an  end." 

Dietrich  at  length  was  made  to  comprehend  what 
Amade  meant,  and  going  towards  the  boys,  bade 
them  make  no  noise,  neither  offer  any  resistance, 
for  both  would  be  unavailing.  Much  of  their 
future  treatment  would  depend  on  their  quiet  sub- 
missiveness ;  at  present  nothing  more  was  required 
of  them  than  to  do  as  they  were  told ;  and  as  their 
first  act  of  obedience  to  their  new  master  they  were 
bidden  to  follow  him  in  silence  to  a  spot,  towards 
which  he  led  the  way.  He  strode  over  the  crack- 
ling undergrowth,  as  though  quite  familiar  with 
the  way,  although  path  there  was  none,  bearing 
still,  as  the  heart  of  Felix  told  him,  in  a  direction 
opposite  to  Steinrode.  The  trees  at  length  began 
to  grow  thinner,  the  thickets  less  tangled,  ;md 
patches  of  blue  sky  appearing  through  the  foliage, 
showed  that  they  were  approaching  the  opposite 
edge  of  the  forest.  The  neighing  of  a  horse 
caused  them  to  look  up,  and  there  by  the  side  of 
a  by-road  made  by  the  colliers  of  that  region  for 


26      THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

transporting  wood  to  their  coal-pits,  stood  a  small 
miserable  wagon,  covered  with  coarse  linen,  to 
which  was  harnessed  a  stout  country  horse,  seem- 
ingly able  to  carry  them  on  a  long  journey,  for 
although  rough  as  a  tinker's  pony,  he  was  in  ex- 
cellent condition. 

A  quantity  of  clothing,  made  of  the  roughest 
material,  such  as  is  worn  by  gipsey  tinkers  and 
collier  boys,  was  taken  from  some  hidden  coffer 
within  the  vehicle,  and  our  two  acquaintances  were 
directed  to  put  on  such  as  their  conductors 
designated,  divesting  themselves  of  every  article 
of  their  own  by  which  they  could  possibly  be  re- 
cognised. The  next  act  of  procedure  was  to  cut 
off  their  hair ;  this  was  speedily  done  by  Amade, 
and  in  the  most  disfiguring  manner,  so  that  in  the 
patched  and  squalid  dresses  they  were  obliged  to 
assume,  no  one  could  have  recognised  them  as  the 
children  of  nobility ;  for  we  must  acknowledge 
those  advantages  of  person  which  birth  is  supposed 
to  confer  are  greatly  aided  by  the  auxiliary  of 
dress.  Whilst  all  this  transforming  process  was 
going  on,  Amade  and  Dietrich  only  exchanged  a 
few  words  with  each  other  —  the  whole  business 
being  accomplished  in  a  few  minutes,  and  the  boys 
having  been  desired  to  mount  up  into  the  wagon, 
a  request  which  they  seemed  rather  reluctant  to 
obey,  they  were  somewhat  rudely  assisted  to  do  so, 
after  which  the  confederates  separated.  Dietrich 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  27 

took  his  place  beside  them,  and  after  threatening 
to  punish  all  attempts  to  escape,  or  any  refractory 
behaviour  maintained  a  resolute  and  gloomy 
silence,  closing  his  ears  to  the  prayer  they  would 
utter,  and  deaf  to  the  sobs  which  issued  from  their 
breaking  hearts,  he  drove  his  stout  charger  rapidly 
over  stock  and  stone,  at  a  pace  which  occasioned 
such  a  jolting  of  the  wagon  as  threatened  every 
bone  in  their  bodies  with  dislocation.  That  he  was 
fearful  of  pursuit  was  evident ;  for  he  not  only 
urged  the  animal  to  a  speed  absolutely  cruel,  but 
held  on  his  way  through  a  wild  mountainous  region, 
by  solitary  roads,  where  no  human  being  appeared, 
and  where  no  smoke,  curling  above  the  tree-tops, 
gave  sign  of  human  habitation. 

We  must  leave  them  for  awhile  to  pursue  their 
disastrous  journey,  to  look  after  those  anxious 
hearts  left  behind:  but  let  us  just  enquire  what 
Amade  did,  or  how  he  concluded  the  first  act  of  his 
treacherous  drama,  so  successfully  begun,  and  the 
termination  of  which  his  coward  heart  trembled  to 
contemplate.  He  remained  standing  on  the  same 
spot  where  Dietrich  left  him  until  the  sound  of 
the  wheels  was  entirely  lost  in  the  distance ;  a 
bright  red  spot  glowed  on  his  dark  cheeks,  and  his 
eyes  burned  with  unusual  light.  At  length  he 
roused  himself. 

"Would  that  I  had  never  seen  those  unlucky 
jewels,"  said  he  to  himself;  "they  have  done  me 
24* 


28      THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

no  good,  but  caused  me  to  live  in  daily  terror  of 
detection ;  and  now  I  have  plunged  still  further 
into  crime,  and  must  deepen  the  dye  by  adding  to 
it  duplicity.  Ah !  so  it  is  ever ;  one  cannot  stop 
with  one  sin  —  after  the  first  step  is  taken,  others 
must  follow.  But  now  there  is  nothing  left  for  me 
but  to  play  the  play  out.  Would  that  this  accursed 
term  of  service  were  at  an  end,  for  I  shall  never 
know  a  moment's  peace  until  I  am  safe  in  my 
native  country.  It  will  be  horrible  for  me  to  face 
my  mistress,  but  I  must  do  it  like  a  man ;  —  but  I 
would  far  rather  have  given  that  haughty  Melanie 

to  Dietrich  than  Felix ah !  that  hurts  me  more 

than  all  the  rest.  But  I  must  act,  and  quickly ; 
self-reproach  will  now  do  no  good." 

He  proceeded,  even  as  he  spoke,  to  gather  up 
the  clothing  of  which  he  and  Dietrich  had  divested 
the  boys,  and  carried  them  to  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  at  a  place  both  deep  and  rapid,  which  lay 
about  a  quarter  of  a  league  from  the  castle,  and 
in  a  direction  entirely  opposite  to  that  from  whence 
he  parted  with  Dietrich  and  his  captives.  He  laid 
their  caps  and  upper  garments  on  the  shore  to  show 
that  at  this  spot  they  had  gone  into  bathe ;  and 
some  yards  further  down,  he  hung  a  portion  of 
their  linen  on  some  bushes  that  protruded  from  the 
water ;  and  as  at  that  place  the  current  was  par- 
ticularly strong,  it  might  be  very  readily  supposed 
they  had  both  been  swept  away  by  its  rapidity,  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  29 

drowned.  Having  accomplished  all  this,  he  re- 
turned to  the  castle  by  a  circuitous  route ;  and 
entering  by  the  porter's  lodge  in  front,  he  spoke  to 
the  old  woman  at  the  gate,  and  went  on  directly  to 
the  servants'  room,  where  he  was  glad  to  find  his 
absence  had  not  been  noticed.  Not  a  word  was 
said  of  the  children ;  and  thus  many  hours  passed 
before  any  one  missed  Felix  and  Eugene  from 
among  the  rest.  And  indeed,  it  was  not  until  the 
family  were  called  to  assemble  for  dinner,  that  any 
one,  except  the  mother  of  Felix,  thought  of  en- 
quiring for  them ;  but  then  each  one  recollected 
that  neither  of  them  had  been  seen  from  the  time 
of  the  early  breakfast  hour.  Then  the  consterna- 
tion rose  to  a  fearful  height,  and  each  heart  boded 
misfortune. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"And  wilt  them  pluck  my  fair  son  from  mine  age, 
And  rob  me  of  a  happy  mother's  name  ?" 

LADY  Lindenburg,  occupied  with  her  other  chil- 
dren, did  not  remark  the  protracted  absence  of 
Felix  with  any  uneasiness,  until  the  morning  was 
far  advanced.  Wondering  at  a  disobedience  so 
unusual  in  any  member  of  her  family,  she  was 
prepared  to  chide  him  for  his  unwonted  delay ;  but 
when  the  dinner-bell  rang,  and  the  others  appeared 
ready  to  take  their  places  at  the  table,  her  dis- 
pleasure changed  to  alarm  when  she  found  he  was 
not  among  the  number. 

She  enquired  of  Herman  if  he  had  seen  his 
brother — of  the  servants,  if  any  of  them  had  met 
him  on  his  return  from  the  village ;  a  negative  from 
each  one  was  the  only  answer  to  her  question. 
The  dinner  was  left  untouched.  Filled  with 
anxiety,  the  mother  despatched  messengers  every 
where  for  tidings  of  her  missing  boy ;  some  to  the 
park  —  others  to  Petersmuhl  —  although  she  felt 
assured  he  would  not  go  there  after  her  expressed 
wish  that  he  should  not.  The  forest  was  searched 
—  she  examined  the  gardens  herself — but  all  was 
in  vain.  No  one  had  seen  him  but  Ehrenfried,  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  31 

the  farmer  to  whom  he  had  gone  with  his  father ; 
both  had  seen  him  leave  the  village  on  his  home- 
ward road,  but  this  was  at  so  early  an  hour,  that  it 
gave  no  clue  to  what  might  have  happened.  Hour 
succeeded  hour — each  one  increasing  the  weight  of 
anxiety  that  pressed  upon  her  heart,  but  she 
yielded  not  to  the  tears  that  would  have  unnerved 
her,  until  late  in  the  evening;  then  the  messengers 
sent  to  a  distance  returned,  and  all  brought  the 
same  answer  —  no  traces  had  been  found. 

Until  this  time,  Lady  Von  Grosse,  accustomed 
to  Eugene's  long  absences  (for  he  went  wherever 
he  pleased  without  asking  permission),  was  by  no 
means  alarmed ;  and  expressed  herself  to  Melanie, 
that  she  thought  "Lady  Lindenburg  was  making  a 
great  rout  about  nothing ;  she  did  not  know  why 
boys  should  always  be  tied  to  their  mother's  apron 
— 'twas  a  sure  way  to  keep  down  their  spirit.  For 
her  part,  she  would  let  Eugene  do  as  he  pleased  — 
there  was  nothing  she  loved  so  well  as  independence 
of  character."  But  when  the  bell  was  rung  for 
supper,  and  Eugene  did  not  answer  to  the  summons, 
then  her  consternation  was  wild  and  fearful.  She 
ran  shrieking  through  the  garden ;  and,  unheeding 
the  darkness,  into  the  park. 

"Eugene,  my  child  —  Eugene,  come  to  me!" 
and  those  screams  tore  the  hearts  of  all  who  heard 
them  —  they  sounded  like  the  cries  of  a  maniac. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  scene  of 


32  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

confusion  and  dismay  that  now  took  place  in  the 
orderly  household  at  Steinrode.  The  servants,  sad 
and  affrighted,  gathered  in  groups  about  the  hall, 
or  on  the  staircase ;  crying,  whispering,  or  running 
about  apparently  half  distracted,  as  they  saw  the 
agitation  of  their  superiors.  The  children,  with 
the  exception  of  Herman  and  Melanie,  were  sob- 
bing aloud.  Old  mother  Spiller  had  penetrated  to 
the  family  room,  and  with  little  Pauline  on  her  lap, 
sat  weeping  beside  Lady  Lindenburg,  whose  fears 
of  disaster  had  now  amounted  to  certainty;  yet 
calm,  although  with  a  face  as  pale  as  death,  she 
once  more  ordered  the  forest  to  be  searched  — 
directing  the  men  to  carry  flambeaux,  leaving  no 
spot  unvisited.  Herman  had  until  this  moment 
stood  beside  her,  mastering  his  own  emotion  to 
comfort  and  assure  her;  although  the  heavy  drops 
of  perspiration  that  stood  upon  his  broad  white 
forehead,  showed  how  deeply  his  brother's  heart  was 
wrung.  But  now  he  left  her,  determined  to  make 
one  of  the  exploring  party,  going  with  the  portion 
who  went  on  foot ;  whilst  Mr.  Bulow  and  two  of 
the  grooms  mounted  on  horseback,  and  determined 
to  follow  the  windings  of  the  stream ;  particularly 
as  one  of  the  stable-boys  remembered  that  Eugene 
had  asked  him  about  getting  him  some  worms,  at 
the  same  time  saying  he  was  "going  fishing  one  of 
these  days!" 

This  afforded  a  slight  glimmer  of  hope  to  all  but 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  33 

Lady  Lindenburg.  They  might,  in  pursuing  their 
sport,  have  gone  farther  than  they  intended,  and 
so  lost  their  way,  being  bewildered  in  the  intri- 
cacies of  the  forest ;  or  else,  leaving  the  track 
entirely,  had  wandered  to  some  herdsman's  cottage, 
from  which  it  was  too  late  to  return. 

But  no  such  hope  cheated  the  heart  of  Felix's 
mother ;  she  knew  him  too  well  to  believe  he  would 
disobey  her  to  such  an  extent  as  this  implied ;  and 
she  sat  with  folded  hands  and  in  silent  sorrow, 
endeavouring  to  subdue  the  tumult  raging  in  her 
mother's  heart,  and  bring  it  to  that  submission 
which  she  had  many  times  already  experienced 
was  demanded  of  those  who  would  be  children  of 
God. 

After  the  departure  of  the  last  party,  all  had 
become  comparatively  silent.  Aunt  Angela  was  a 
real  comfort  at  this  time  to  her  afflicted  sister,  and 
endeavoured  to  be  so  too  to  Lady  Von  Grosse,  if 
she  would  have  permitted  her ;  but  that  lady 
would  not  listen  to  a  word  from  any  one ;  she 
turned  away  from  aunt  Angela,  pushed  Melanie 
to  one  side  when  she  would  have  approached  her, 
and  continued  her  fruitless  roaming  in  the  park, 
although  the  dark  day  had  ended  in  a  thick  mist, 
or  rather  drizzling  rain,  which,  added  to  the  chill 
mountain  blasts  that  moaned  through  the  trees,  and 
detached  the  withering  leaves  from  their  branches, 
•would  at  any  other  time  have  filled  her  with  alarm, 


34  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

and  now  was  fraught  with  danger  to  her  health. 
But  a  mother's  anxiety  now  predominated  over 
every  thing  else ;  she  heeded  not  the  gusts  that 
tossed  the  swaying  branches,  waving  like  giant 
arms  above  her  head  —  she  knew  not  that  rain 
was  falling,  or  if  she  did,  cared  not  that  it  might 
be  injurious  to  herself — her  son,  her  idol,  for  she 
had  ever  loved  him  better  than  his  sister,  was 
abroad,  exposed  to  the  same  inclemency,  and  she 
could  not  give  up  her  search  while  hope  remained. 
Aunt  Angela  had  deemed  it  best  to  leave  her ; 
so  giving  a  servant  orders  to  see  that  she  did  not 
wander  in  an  unsafe  direction,  she  once  more 
entered  the  room  where  she  had  left  her  sister 
surrounded  by  her  children,  whose  loud  grief  had 
been  somewhat  subdued  by  the  spark  of  hope 
kindled  up  for  a  moment  by  the  evidence  of  the 
stable-boy.  No  word  was  spoken  —  a  half-sup- 
pressed sob  from  one  of  the  sisters  alone  broke  the 
silence  that  reigned  within  that  room  so  lately 
cheerful ;  the  old  clock  in  the  hall  chimed  the  hour 
of  ten,  and  the  glare  of  torches  gleaming  through 
the  windows  from  without,  told  of  the  servants' 
return.  A  wild  shriek  was  heard  from  the  garden ; 
it  was  from  the  mother  still  calling  on  her  son's 
name,  and  the  cry  was  most  agonizing.  Another 
moment  and  a  horse  was  heard  galloping  over  the 
gravelled  walk.  A  bustle  without  showed  that  the 
servants  had  pressed  forward  for  news  ;  but  no 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  35 

acclamations  followed  as  they  would  have  done 
on  the  reception  of  joyful  tidings ;  no  footsteps 
pressed  forward  to  carry  the  lost  boy  to  his  des- 
pairing mother;  a  boding  stillness  succeeded  to  the 
previous  rush ;  and  Lady  Lindenburg,  crossing 
her  hands  meekly  over  her  bosom,  said,  "  Go, 
Angela,  and  hear  the  worst:  I  am  able  to  bear  it !" 

The  horseman  was  the  groom  who  had  accom- 
panied Mr.  Bulow,  and  when  Angela  reached  the 
hall  he  was  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of 
servants,  dripping  with  rain,  and  holding  the  cap 
and  clothing  of  Felix  in  his  hand,  from  which  the 
water  was  likewise  streaming.  No  further  confir- 
mation of  their  fears  seemed  necessary ;  a  few 
words  explanatory  of  how  and  where  he  had  found 
them  was  sufficient.  The  servants  retired  to  the 
kitchen  to  conjecture  how  and  where  the  body 
would  be  found,  and  to  tell  marvellous  tales  of  the 
spirits  of  the  Hartz,  who  were  known  to  attract 
boys  away  from  their  parents,  and  u  keep  them 
ever  so  many  years." 

"Indeed,"  said  Dolly,  the  chambermaid,  "I 
should  not  wonder  if  the  Berggeist  *  made  them  fol- 
low him  into  the  water,  like  the  fairy  did  Seppi, 
the  goatherd." 

"  I  thought  of  that  when  I  saw  the  linen  hang- 
ing on  the  bushes  in  the  middle  of  the  stream," 


*  Mountain  goblin. 
25 


36 


THE  NEIGHBORS  CHILDREN. 


said  Eric,  the  groom  who  had  found  the  clothes, 
"  and  I  was  almost  afraid  to  venture  ;  yes,  it  must 
be  so,  that  is  if  the  bodies  are  not  found,  for  I 
suppose  my  poor  lady  will  have  us  all  out  dragging 
the  river,  to-morrow." 

"I  thought  something  was  to  happen,"  said 
Dolly,  as  she  hitched  her  chair  a  little  closer  to 
that  of  Eric,  "  for,  this  morning,  the  black  cat 
looked  up  into  my  face,  and  mewed  three  times." 

"And  I  declare,"  said  Grettly,  the  dairy-maid, 
"  old  Blackhorns  would  not  give  me  a  drop  of 
her  milk,  and  kicked  the  pail  over  three  times  in 
spite  of  me ;  and  that  is  always  a  sign  of  some- 
thing." 

"  You  are  a  set  of  silly  fools,"  said  the  cook  ; 
"  do  you  suppose  the  cats  know  what  is  going  to 
happen,  when  sensitive  creatures  do  not ;  or  that 
the  black  cow  held  up  her  milk  because  master 
Felix,  poor  dear,  was  going  to  be  drownded.  The 
cat  cried  because  she  was  hungry  and  wanted  to  be 
implenished ;  and  the  only  sign  about  old  Black- 
horns  was,  that  she  deposed  you  to  be  a  fool. 
Get  you  off  to  your  beds  ;  your  sitting  up  won't 
do  no  good,  and  there  won't  be  no  carousing  you 
in  the  morning." 

Some  of  those  she  addressed  followed  her  bidding 
and  example ;  but  others  sat  still,  and  building  up 
a  large  bright  wood  fire  in  the  ample  hearth,  their 
party  soon  became  augmented  by  some  of  the" 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN?  37 

neighboring  tenants,  among  whom  the  sad  news 
was  already  spread,  and  dropped  in  one  after 
another,  they  whiled  the  dreary  night  away  with 
many  a  wild  legend  and  tale  of  superstitious  bear- 
ing, the  truth  of  which  they  did  not  for  a  moment 
question,  until  in  their  excited  imaginations  suppo- 
sition almost  became  belief  that  Felix  and  Eugene 
were  spirited  away  by  some  demon  of  the  Hartz ; 
"but  this,"  they  added,  "  will  be  proved  if  the  bodies 
are  not  found."  The  grey  and  misty  morning 
found  them  still  discussing  the  matter ;  and  glad 
were  they  when  the  dawn  called  them  once  more 
to  their  usual  occupations. 

Aunt  Angela  had  broken  the  tidings  brought  by 
Mr.  Bulow  as  tenderly  as  possible  to  her  sister ; 
no  violent  outburst  of  grief  resounded  through  that 
chamber  of  mourning  —  the  family  were  silent  in 
their  woe  —  they  knew  it  was  by  the  hand  of  God 
they  had  been  smitten.  Lady  Lindenburg  bade  her 
sister  go  to  her  suffering  guest,  who  had  met  the 
party  on  horseback  in  the  park  on  their  return  from 
the  river ;  it  was  on  seeing  Eugene's  clothes  that  she 
had  screamed  so  wildly ;  and  Mr.  Bulow  dismount- 
ing from  his  horse,  gave  the  bridle  to  one  of  the 
grooms,  and  at  length  succeeded  in  persuading  her 
to  accompany  him  to  the  castle. 

Some  soothing  cordial  was  given  her  by  the 
benevolent  hand  of  aunt  Angela,  who  moved  about 
like  a  minister  of  mercy  among  these  afflicted  ones, 


88 


THE  NEIGHBORS  CHILDREN. 


her  hysterical  emotions  after  a  time  were  quieted, 
and  she  at  length  sunk  into  a  quietude  resembling 
sleep  —  that  quietude  which,  although  we  do  not 
lose  all  consciousness,  is  yet  sufficient  to  blunt  the 
sharp  edge  of  the  mourner's  sorrow,  and  steals  over 
the  stricken  heart  like  twilight  veiling  with  her 
dewy  robe  the  day  exhausted  by  the  summer's 
heat.  Then  giving  Melanie  many  charges  to 
•watch  beside  her  mother's  bedside,  and  stationing 
one  of  the  maidens  in  an  ante-room,  she  turned  to 
her  sister's  chamber,  and  there,  locked  in  each 
other's  arms,  they  watched  and  wept  the  weary 
night  away. 

Mr.  Bulow  proposed  that  a  messenger  should  at 
once  be  sent  after  Baron  Lindenburg,  who  was 
stopping  at  a  friend's  house  for  that  night.  It 
was  at  no  great  distance,  but  it  was  necessary  that 
the  place  of  his  sojourn  should  be  reached  before 
he  should  have  left  it ;  as  early  in  the  morning  he 
expected  to  proceed  on  his  journey.  The  night  was 
becoming  each  moment  more  wild  and  stormy ;  but 
Eric,  the  groom,  declared  his  willingness  to  set  out 
at  once,  which  he  did,  notwithstanding  his  super- 
stitious belief  in  spectres  and  goblins,  for  Dolly  had 
given  him  a  bit  of  St.  John's  wort  to  tie  round  his 
neck,  which  she  averred  was  efficacious  enough  to 
drive  away  all  the  Demons  of  the  Hartz  into  the 
Red  Sea. 

The  morning  broke  without  any  improvement  in 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  39 

the  weather.  The  face  of  nature  was  clothed  in 
gloom,  which  but  too  well  corresponded  with  that 
which  clouded  the  hearts  of  this  afflicted  family. 
The  rain  poured  down  steadily  throughout  the  day 
—  the  wind  swept  in  fierce  gusts  through  the  park, 
stripping  the  half-denuded  trees  of  the  foliage  that 
remained  —  the  cattle  clustered  together  in  groups 
by  the  hedges  —  and  it  was,  altogether,  a  season 
when  the  shelter  of  home  was  to  be  desired ;  yet 
the  grey  dawn  had  scarcely  struggled  into  exist- 
ence, ere  the  servants  and  retainers  were  out  to 
renew  their  search. 

Great  was  the  sorrow  that  now  ruled  in  that  so 
lately  happy  household.  Lady  Lindenburg,  with 
her  husband  far  distant,  and  bowed  down  to  the 
very  earth  by  the  weight  of  her  affliction,  was  yet 
obliged  to  order  the  arrangements  necessary  for  the 
recovery  of  the  corpses  of  her  son  and  Eugene ; 
but  with  the  self-command  she  ever  maintained, 
her  own  feelings  were  kept  under  restraint,  and 
her  habitual  piety  led  her  to  seek  comfort  from  a 
source  whence  it  is  never  denied — in  prayer.  The 
evening  brought  the  Baron  back  to  the  home  he 
had  so  lately  left ;  and  night's  deep  shadows  had 
already  shrouded  the  forest,  when  the  men  engaged 
in  dragging  the  river  returned  from  their  ineffectual 
search.  There  was  nothing  more  that  could  be 
done,  and  the  sorely-stricken  parents  endeavored 
to  be  silent  under  the  Unerring  Hand  that  had  so 
25* 


40     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

mysteriously  wounded  them.  As  children  of  a 
•wise  and  benevolent  Parent,  who  until  this  moment 
had  never  veiled  his  face  in  darkness,  but  showered 
blessings  and  sunlight  on  their  heretofore  happy 
path,  they  felt  that  in  this  present  dark  dispensa- 
tion it  was  not  theirs  to  question,  but  submit;  they 
therefore  gave  up  their  Felix  as  one  they  were  no 
more  to  meet  until  the  earth  should  be  called  to 
judgment,  and  the  sea  to  give  up  its  dead.  It 
would  have  been  a  comfort  to  have  looked  upon  the 
corpse  of  their  fair-haired  boy,  and  visited  the  grave 
where  the  dear  dust  reposed ;  but  since  this  could 
not  be,  his  memory  was  sepulchred  deep  in  those 
parental  hearts,  and  cherished  with  an  affection 
which  needed  no  marble  to  remind  them  of  the  one 
who  faded,  even  in  his  budding,  from  their  sight. 

"I  told  you  so,  Eric ;  I  told  you  so,"  said  Dolly, 
as  the  servants  once  more  gathered  around  the 
kitchen-fire,  to  give  utterance  to  the  many  conjec- 
tures that  had  arisen  on  their  failure  to  find  the 
bodies,  "I  know'd  you'd  never  get  them.  Ah! 
poor  Master  Felix !  he  will  never  be  among  us 
again,  with  his  laughing  blue  eyes,  and  his  merry 
ways.  I  hope,  since  he  is  not  drowned,  for  if  he 
was  the  body  would  have  turned  up  somehow,  that 
it  was  the  Riibezahl  that  took  him  away,  for  they 
say  he  always  uses  the  children  well  that  he  carries 
off;  but  the  Zernbock " 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  41 

"It  is  a  pity,"  interrupted  the  fat  cook,  "that 
one  of  them  had  n't  carried  you  off,  and  kept  you 
awhile,  to  stop  your  talking ;  but  they  were  too 
sensitive  to  do  that,  for  they  knew  that  one  tongue 
like  yours  would  set  them  all  in  profusion." 

Dolly  now  began  to  flare  up ;  and,  forgetful  of 
the  sad  occurrence  which  had  called  up  the  mention 
of  the  mountain  demons,  she  began  fiercely  to 
retaliate  on  the  cook  with  the  very  member  that 
that  worthy  personage  had  deemed  too  noisy  for 
goblin  land ! 

"I  should  not  wonder,  Madam  Greasyface,"  she 
began,  "if  the  Zernbock  made  you  a  visit ;  he  only 
comes  after  ugly  people." 

"None  of  your  arguevatins,"  interrupted  the 
fat  cook,  "there  comes  Mother  Spiller  —  she'll 
soon  settle  you;"  and  indeed,  at  the  same  moment, 
the  old  lady  entered  the  kitchen  with  an  injunction 
that  all  would  retire  to  rest  as  speedily  as  possible, 
as  it  was  desirable  that  the  house  should  be  kept 
perfectly  quiet.  There  was  no  gainsaying  this ; 
the  strangers  departed  to  their  homes  —  the  ser- 
vants one  by  one  went  off  to  their  several  places 
of  rest  —  the  lights  were  all  extinguished  —  and, 
save  the  melancholy  chirp  of  the  cricket  on  the 
kitchen-hearth,  deep  and  mournful  stillness  reigned 
over  the  sorrowing  household  of  Steinrode. 


42  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

CHAPTER  III 

"This  is  a  lonesome  place  for  one  like  you." 

FOR  many  days  Lady  Von  Grosse  gave  way  to 
the  most  boisterous  demonstrations  of  grief,  calling 
constantly  on  the  name  of  Eugene,  until  those 
kind  friends  under  whose  roof  she  was  dwelling, 
began  to  fear  for  her  reason.  In  her  day  of  pros- 
perity, she  had  never  looked  beyond  the  enjoyment 
of  the  present  life ;  and  when  the  day  of  calamity 
came,  she  had  no  strong-hold  to  which  she  could 
flee.  All  that  the  good  aunt  Angela  could  urge 
was  without  avail ;  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
admonitions,  soothing  as  they  were,  of  one  whom 
she  insisted  could  not  feel  as  a  mother  who  had  lost 
her  only  son.  She  declared  the  sun  of  her  exist- 
ence was  forever  darkened,  and  that  God  had  dealt 
hardly  and  unjustly  with  her;  and  that  rebellious 
spirit,  which  alarmed,  by  the  violence  of  its  mur- 
murs, the  kind  old  maid,  was  in  nowise  subdued 
until  Lady  Lindenburg,  conquering  the  sorrow  of 
her  own  heart,  went  herself  to  her  suffering  guest, 
and  showed  her  that  great  as  was  the  calamity  that 
had  fallen  on  both,  there  was  no  affliction  sent  by 
the  hand  of  God  that  he  would  not  give  them 
strength  to  bear. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  48 

The  calm,  pale  brow  of  the  mother,  plainly 
attested  the  depth  of  her  own  feelings  while  she 
thus  benevolently  attempted  to  give  comfort  to 
another,  who,  although  not  more  severely  stricken 
than  herself,  had  yet  to  learn  that  sweet  and  sooth- 
ing assurance  which  comes  like  a  whisper  from  the 
spirit-land — the  still  small  voice  that  is  heard  amid 
the  tumult  and  the  storm  of  grief,  which  bids  the 
trusting  mourner  remember,  "  He  doeth  all  things 
well ;"  and  she  felt  herself  strengthened  to  better 
bear  her  own  burden  by  the  effort  she  made  to 
assist  another,  to  whom  the  same  ability  had  not 
been  given.  Lady  Von  Grosse  was  touched  by  her 
words,  for  she  could  neither  doubt  their  sincerity, 
nor  question  the  mother's  right  to  feel ;  both  were 
exhibited  by  the  unmistakeable  manner  of  the 
bereft,  who,  bowing  meekly  before  the  mandate 
"Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God,"  was  yet 
ready  to  pour  drops  of  consolation  on  the  wounds 
of  another,  while  her  own  heart  was  bleeding  at 
every  pore.  Awed,  therefore,  by  the  majesty  of  a 
grief  that,  whilst  it  mourned,  yet  did  not  murmur, 
that  of  Lady  Von  Grosse  became  much  lessened  in 
its  violence,  when,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she 
began  to  think.  Until  the  day  she  had  left  Haus- 
dorff,  her  time  had  passed  in  one  giddy  round  of 
pleasure.  She  could  not  believe  but  that  her  path 
was  to  be  strewn  with  flowers,  even  to  the  end  of 
her  earthly  course ;  but  of  that  end  itself  she 


44        THE  NEIGH  BURS'  CHILDREN. 

suffered  no  thought  to  intrude  —  its  unwelcome 
shadow  would  have  dimmed  her  sunshine.  Her 
time,  since  the  destruction  of  Hausdorff,  and  their 
consequent  ruin,  had  been  spent  in  lamenting  their 
hard  fate,  or  regrets  for  the  pleasures  she  could  no 
longer  procure  or  enjoy.  The  first  stroke  sent  by 
the  Unerring  had  failed  to  produce  the  salutary 
effect  always  intended  by  afflictive  dispensations, 
and  now  a  second  and  more  severe  one  was  sent  to 
repeat  the  teaching  of  the  lesson ;  and,  in  great 
mercy,  at  this  time  it  did  not  fail. 

She  now  began  to  see  how  faulty  she  had  been 
in  committing  the  care  of  her  children  to  strangers 
—  in  turning  over  to  hirelings  the  performance  of 
those  sacred  duties  which  is  peculiarly  the  charge 
of  mothers,  and  ought  to  be  their  pride  (for  woman 
is  nowhere  so  truly  great  as  in  the  nursery,  since 
it  is  there  that  the  first  good  seed  is  to  be  sown, 
the  first  gems  of  an  evil  nature  to  be  crushed) ; 
and  to  the  self-will  and  steady  disobedience  in 
which  they  had  ever  been  permitted  to  indulge, 
the  present  calamity  might  mainly  be  attributed. 
Deeply  now  did  she  regret  the  time  she  had  spent 
in  the  whirl  of  pleasure  —  such  pleasure  as  if  at 
this  period  offered  to  her,  could  not  give  one 
moment's  soothing  to  her  pained  spirit ;  and 
Melanie,  who,  notwithstanding  the  loss  of  her 
brother,  by  constantly  practising  the  same  perverse 
and  disobedient  behaviour  she  had  ever  done,  keep- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  45 

ing  constantly  by  its  exhibition  before  her  the  evil 
effects  of  her  own  negligence  in  regard  to  her 
children,  was  anything  but  a  comfort,  since  it  only 
deepened  her  self-reproach,  and  served  to  point  her 
conscience  with  a  sharper  sting. 

From  the  date  of  this  sore  affliction  a  very  per- 
ceptible change  was  observed  to  have  taken  place 
in  the  family  at  Steinrode.  The  flood  of  their  first 
high  tide  of  grief  had  passed  away ;  but  not  with- 
out having  left  deep  and  lasting  traces.  Their 
cheerfulness  gradually  returned ;  but  the  same 
boisterous  merriment  never.  Their  natural  mirth, 
"  the  child  of  good-nature  and  conscious  innocence 
of  heart,"  was  for  a  space  subdued;  but  Time,  as 
he  bore  them  along  his  stream,  blunted  (as  he 
always  does,)  the  sharp  edge  of  their  sorrow,  and 
it  again  beamed  forth,  but  never  so  brightly  as 
before.  Herman  greatly  missed  his  companion  in 
study  and  in  play ;  the  girls  their  fair-haired 
laughing  brother,  who  was  the  merriest  of  them  all, 
and  whose  joyous  spirit  burned  ever  with  a  light  that 
communicated  its  own  radiance  to  the  rest.  The 
Baron  was  grave.  Lady  Lindenburg — ah !  there  was 
little  change  in  her,  save  her  cheek  was  paler,  and 
her  eyes  more  dove-like ;  there  was  that  within  that 
passeth  show — a  mother's  heart  has  depths  it  is  not 
easy  to  fathom.  Aunt  Angela  spent  now  the 
greater  part  of  her  time  with  them ;  and  pitying 
the  neglected  and  self-willed  Melanie,  she  benevo- 


46  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

lently  set  herself  to  work  to  eradicate  the  faults 
engendered  by  her  erroneous  education,  and  to 
prepare  her  mind  for  the  reception  of  better 
things  ;  a  task  in  which,  although  at  first  it  did 
not  promise  much  success  to  the  good  old  maid, 
yet  with  that  spirit  of  true  charity  which  "  hopeth 
and  endureth  all  things,"  she  yet  determined  to 
persevere  in  her  efforts,  trusting  that  He  in  whose 
name  she  sowed  the  "good  seed"  would  give  the 
increase. 

Thus  the  family  gradually  resumed  the  occupa- 
tions and  studies  which  the  sad  event  we  have 
related  had  for  a  time  interrupted.  The  Baron, 
who  had  not  given  up  his  kind  intentions  in  favour 
of  the  peasant  boy,  and  since  the  loss  of  Felix,  was 
more  kindly  disposed,  now  not  only  permitted 
that  Ehrenfried  should  come  to  the  castle  to  re- 
ceive instruction  from  Mr.  Bulow  with  his  own 
children,  but  was  determined,  if  the  boy  proved  to 
be  what  he  hoped,  to  build  a  cottage  in  the  village 
for  his  mother.  Thus  in  doing  and  planning  good, 
they  found  balm  for  their  own  wounded  spirits ; 
and  although  the  winter  set  in  to  them  in  unusual 
gloom — though  the  long  corridors  and  high-roofed 
hall  looked  vacant  and  dreary — though  they  could 
not  discern  the  same  sparkling  beauty  in  the  snow- 
wreaths,  and  uttered  no  jests  as  they  used  to  do 
when  they  looked  at  "  old  Zobtenberg"for  signs  of 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  47 

the  weather,  the  winter  passed;  and  not  without 
blessings  and  comfort. 

Christmas  came  and  New  Year ;  but  not  with 
the  bright  anticipation  and  childish  enjoyment  of 
the  preceding  —  no;  remembrance  was  too  busy 
for  that;  yet  not  so  busy  as  to  forget  there  were 
others  to  be  made  happy,  although  they  were  sad. 
No  brightly  illuminated  Christmas-tree  was  placed 
in  the  hall  or  parlour ;  but  the  poor  of  the  village, 
and  tenants  on  the  estate,  received  their  annual 
presents,  and  more  largely  than  usual.  A  long 
table  was  spread  in  the  servants'  hall,  where  the 
poor  were  feasted  with  a  good  dinner,  and  "  indeed 
where  they  did  eat,"  as  Doily  confided  to  Eric, 
"  as  if  they  had  never  eaten  before,  and  never 
thinking  of  poor  Master  Felix,  whom  she  was  now 
morally  certain  the  Rubezahl  had  spirited  away." 

Public  notice  had  been  given  of  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  two  boys,  and  rewards  offered  for  the 
recovery  of  the  bodies  ;  for  few  or  none  questioned 
that  they  were  drowned.  But  the  winter  passed, 
and  no  more  light  was  thrown  on  the  mysterious 
affair  than  on  the  day  of  its  happening ;  and  the 
uncertainty  of  those  who  at  first  were  inclined  to 
doubt  gradually  yielded  to  belief. 

Spring  once  more  spread  her  green  mantle  over 

the  earth ;  the  hedges  bloomed  in  flowery  beauty, 

the  garden  stood  forth  in  all  its  pride  of  budding 

loveliness,   and    the   lark,   mounting  high    in    the 

26 


48  THK  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

heavens,  sung  his  songs  of  praise.  Nature  caino 
forth  from  her  long  wintry  sleep  in  renovated 
beauty ;  but  spring  to  the  mourner's  heart  brings 
little  joy.  The  contrast  is  too  painful ;  the 
trees  bud  out  and  blossom,  the  flowers  burst  forth 
in  gladness  from  the  earth ;  the  forest  wears  again 
her  vernal  garb,  and  stands  forth  enrobed  in  bright 
and  freshened  foliage  —  there  is  no  missing  in 
Nature  for  what  winter  destroyed,  since  spring  re- 
turns all ;  but  the  grave  never  gives  back  what  it 
shrouds  within  its  dark  bosom.  Does  not  every 
mourner  feel  his  sad  bereavement  renewed  yet 
more  painfully  as  spring  returns  to  Earth  the 
treasures  for  which  in  winter  she  seemed  to 
sorrow ;  but  to  those  who  weep  over  the  graves  of 
the  loved  ones  who  made  their  world,  she  brings 
but  sadness,  if  they  look  no  further  than  the 
present  imperfect  state.  But  there  are  those  who 
know  of  better  things  —  those  who,  tracing  in  the 
"unvarying  serenity  of  purpose"  with  which  the 
mighty  mother  performs  her  steady  changes,  bring- 
ing seed-time,  and  harvest  in  their  appointed 
courses,  the  Wondrous  Power  by  which  she  is  alike 
govefned  and  upheld  —  believe  that  for  man,  the 
favoured  creature  of  God,  there,  too,  is  an  awaken- 
ing —  the  glorious  resurrection  of  the  body  is 
shadowed  forth  in  all.  But  Nature's  budding 
beauty  charmed  not  as  heretofore ;  there  was  no 
sympathy  between  these  scenes  of  their  happy 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  49 

childhood  and  their  present  changed  feelings  — 
they  were  admired  but  not  enjoyed ;  for  Felix,  the 
laughing,  merry  Felix,  was  no  longer  among  them, 
and  all  seemed  drear  and  desolate.  Oh  !  how 
changed  every  thing  seemed ;  yet  the  change  was 
only  within  themselves ;  for  the  same  attention 
had  been  paid  to  every  thing  as  formerly,  but  they 
could  not  romp  and  play  as  they  had  been  used  to 
do.  Melanie  had  been  throughout  far  less  troubled 
than  the  rest;  she  had  never  loved  her  brother; 
he  had  often  ridiculed  her  for  her  fashionable  airs, 
betrayed  her  to  her  governess,  and,  besides,  was 
constantly  quarrelling  with  her.  And  on  the 
whole,  she  felt  rather  better  than  usual ;  for  since 
his  absence  she  had  not  felt  her  self-love  wounded 
by  her  mother's  partiality  for  her  son,  a  pre- 
ference which  she  never  cared  to  conceal ;  and  by 
constantly  mortifying  Melanie,  had  the  bad  effect 
of  hardening  her  heart  against  all  affection  for 
Eugene. 

Time  brought  a  salutary  change  to  Lady  Von 
Grosse ;  sorrow  and  misfortune  forcing  her  to  give 
up  the  hollow  enjoyments  to  which  she  had  hereto- 
fore sacrificed  her  whole  existence,  gave  her  space 
to  consider  how  false  was  the  light  by  which  she 
had  been  dazzled  ;  how  foolishly  —  nay,  wickedly, 
she  had  acted  in  her  negligent  raising  of  her 
children.  She  never  suspected  to  what  an  extent 
Melanie's  evil  disposition  had  been  fostered,  until 


50  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

at  this  time,  when  she  was  obliged  to  have  her  con 
tinually  at  her  side ;  and  how  bitter  was  the  pang 
that  shot  through  her  heart  at  the  constant 
evidence  the  selfish  girl  gave  of  not  being  able  to 
bestow  one  solitary  ray  of  comfort  on  her  suffering 
parents  at  a  period  when  it  would  be  joy  to  be  able 
to  cling  to  a  promise  afforded  by  her,  of  which, 
alas  !  there  was  not  the  least  sign.  Melanie  loved 
no  one  but  herself;  she  knew  not,  neither  could  be 
made  to  comprehend  the  glorious  feeling  of  sacri- 
ficing her  own  happiness  for  the  sake  of  procuring 
it  for  another.  No  thought,  therefore,  that  by 
duty  and  kindness  she  might  mitigate,  if  she  could 
not  remove,  her  mother's  deep  sorrow,  ever  entered 
her  mind;  therefore  she  did  not  attempt  it,  and 
moved  about  as  usual  among  the  subdued  group, 
the  only  one  whose  brow  wore  no  shadow  of  the 
sad  event  which  had  plunged  them  all  into  gloom. 

With  great  pain,  therefore,  Lady  Von  Grosse 
saw  the  number  of  faults  that  had  taken  deep  root 
in  her  daughter's  heart ;  and  now  she  did  not  only 
watch  with  all  a  mother's  care  to  check  their  rapid 
growth,  but  was  resolved  to  make  every  sacrifice 
of  herself,  in  order  to  retrieve,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  time  she  had  lost. 

The  great  bereavement  she  had  met  with  in  the 
loss  of  Eugene,  had  produced  a  tempest  in  her 
soul  which  had  not  passed  away  without  effect  — 
the  mists  which  had  enveloped  her  mental  being 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  51 

were  all  dispersed  —  misfortune  had  raised  the  veil 
which  heretofore  bounded  her  vision  only  to  this 
world,  and  prevented  her  looking  beyond  it ;  and 
Adversity,  like  storms  that  are  said  to  purify  the 
ocean,  leaving,  when  their  fury  is  spent,  precious 
pearls  upon  the  shore,  had  brought  forth  fruits 
more  costly  than  they  ;  and  now  that  she  learned 
to  look  beyond  the  grave,  and  to  know  that  man 
was  not  made  to  revel  through  life's  short  day,  but 
for  active  usefulness,  she  was  anxious  that  they 
should  find  a  place  where  she  might  at  once  begin 
the  education  of  her  daughter. 

The  situation  of  forest-warden,  which  had  been 
so  contemptuously  refused  when  offered  by  a  friend 
in  the  first  stage  of  their  misfortune,  was  still  open 
for  their  acceptance ;  and  now  so  changed  had 
Lady  Von  Grosse  become,  that  it  seemed  to  be  the 
very  spot  she  desired,  and  she  besieged  her  husband 
with  petitions  that  they  might  be  at  once  permitted 
to  remove  thither,  believing  it  to  be,  according  to 
her  new  views,  the  surest  atmosphere  for  the  build- 
ing up  of  her  daughter's- mental  health. 

The  Count,  less  changed  than  herself,  was  tardy 
in  responding  to  her  wishes ;  he  still  hoped  that 
something  more  suited  to  his  tastes  might  be  found 
in  the  capital,  but  as  nothing  turned  up  there  for 
his  benefit,  and  his  wife  not  relaxing  her  importu- 
nities, he  at  last  yielded  to  them. 

It  was  on  a  glorious  day  towards  the  end  of 
26* 


62  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

summer,  when  the  golden  grain  waved  ripening  for 
the  harvest  in  the  brilliant  sunshine,  that  the  Lady 
Von  Grosse's  family  left  the  hospitable  dwelling  at 
Steinrode,  where  they  had  for  so  long  a  time  been 
sheltered,  to  begin  the  journey  towards  their  new 
and  far-distant  home,  which  lay  in  the  very  bosom 
of  the  wild  and  wonder-teeming  Hartz. 

With  great  emotion  the  two  families  parted  from 
each  other.  Companions  in  suffering,  they  had 
been  brought  nearer  to  each  other,  and  so  obtained 
more  intimate  knowledge  of  their  individual  cha- 
racters than  could  have  been  accomplished  by  any 
other  means,  and  that  acquaintance  had  not  been 
without  profit  to  both.  Lady  Lindenburg  was 
glad  to  find  her  neighbor  was  not  the  heartless 
being  she  at  one  time  appeared  to  be ;  approving 
highly  of  the  course  she  proposed  taking  with 
Melanie,  inasmuch  as  she  not  only  showed  a  great 
deal  of  good  sense,  more  than  any  one  had  given 
her  credit  for,  but  displayed  evidence  of  lofty  and 
proper  feelings,  such  as  proved  her  worthy  of  the 
friendship  of  the  good ;  while  on  the  other  hand, 
Lady  Von  Grosse,  struck  with  the  Christian  con- 
sistency displayed  by  the  Steinrode  parents,  as 
well  in  their  first  happiness  —  in  their  well  dis- 
ciplined family — as  in  this  their  sore  trial,  and  the 
calm  submissive  manner  in  which  they  bowed  to 
meet  the  stroke,  the  courteous  and  unvarying  kind- 
ness taught  by  gospel  spirits  of  hospitality,  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  53 

extended  for  so  long  a  time  to  herself  and  family 
—  all  had  taught  her  that  there  was  truth  in  the 
religion  that  they  possessed ;  and  by  this  pure 
example  her  heart  was  opened  to  receive  its  teach- 
ings. They  parted  then  with  regret  from  each 
other,  there  being  but  little  likelihood  of  their  ever 
meeting  again ;  for  long  and  dangerous  paths  lay 
between  their  several  homes,  and  circumstances 
seemed  at  present  to  forbid  even  a  distant  prospect 
of  re-union. 

Leaving  the  family  at  Steinrode  to  pursue  their 
accustomed  routine  of  life,  we  will  go  to  the  Hartz 
with  Lady  Von  Grosse,  and  see  her  transformed 
into  a  forester's  wife,  dwelling  amongst  and  like 
the  poor  whom  she  had  formerly  so  much  despised. 

Her  husband  was  an  amiable  but  weak  man, 
without  half  the  force  of  character  that  belonged 
to  herself,  and  as  such  was  little  able  to  sustain 
her  with  counsel  or  co-operation  in  the  task  which, 
to  prosecute  successfully,  filled  her  whole  soul,  and 
awoke  energies  within  her  to  follow  a  task  in  which 
she  vainly  endeavoured  to  arouse  him  to  a  participa- 
tion. 

"  He  could  not  see,"  he  said,  "that  Melanie  was 
worse  than  others ;  he  thought  she  should  not  give 
herself  so  much  unnecessary  trouble  ;  the  girl  would 
do  well  enough.  For  his  part  he  would  leave  nothing 
undone  to  get  them  out  of  this  dreadful  place — he 


54      THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

was  sure  he  should  yet  get  an  office  in  the  capital, 
and  then  they  could  live  as  well  as  ever." 

These  remarks  would  silence,  though  they  did 
not  change  the  purpose  of  Madame  Von  Grosse, 
as  she  now  preferred  being  called.  Her  heart  had 
been  too  fully  awakened,  and  by  a  power  that 
teaches  too  thoroughly  to  be  misled  by  such 
sophistry ;  so  she  let  him  talk  on,  resolved  to  be 
firm  in  the  prosecution  of  what  she  now  knew  to 
be  her  duty. 

They  travelled  many  days  ere  they  reached  the 
solitary  spot  where  they  were  to  find  a  home  so 
different  from  that  to  which  they  had  been  accus- 
tomed. Melanie  was  particularly  sullen  during 
the  journey.  Nature  stood  forth  in  unspeakable 
magnificence ;  mountain  peaks  that  rose  far  above 
their  heads,  bathing  their  summits  in  the  clouds ; 
chains  of  dark  and  sterile  rocks  that  skirted  the 
base  of  these  mountains,  or  some  river  shore, 
crowned  on  the  highest  point  with  heavy  masses 
of  time-worn  towers,  contrasted  vividly  with  the 
green  of  the  valleys  and  blue  mirror  of  the  streams 
that  wound  their  crystal  currents  through  them  to 
the  sea.  The  ruins  on  the  rock  served  to  remind 
the  traveller  of  the  genius  of  departed  power,  the 
genius  that  delighted  in  war  and  bloodshed,  looking 
gloomily  down  on  the  triumphs  achieved  by  peace, 
in  the  vine-clad  hill,  or  fruitful  valley ;  but  for 
such  contemplations  Melanie  had  no  taste.  They 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  55 

approached  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  mountains;  the 
forest  grew  thicker,  and  the  scenes  more  gloomy ; 
and  twilight  reigned  within  its  shadow  long  ere  the 
sun  had  withdrawn  his  rays  from  the  earth.  To  a 
small  house  in  the  very  bosom  of  the  deep  wood, 
surrounded  by  a  neatly  paled  garden,  they  bent 
their  steps,  for  they  had  to  leave  the  carriage  in 
which  they  travelled  at  the  outer  edge  of  the 
forest,  and  as  there  was  nothing  but  a  footpath, 
they  were  obliged  to  walk  the  intervening  distance. 
A  pair  of  large  and  branching  antlers  nailed  on 
the  high  peaked  gables  of  the  house  by  way  of 
ornament,  showed  that  this  was  the  forest  lodge ; 
and  by  those  who  had  not  known  such  luxury  as 
our  Von  Grosse  acquaintances  had  been  accustomed 
to,  might  have  been  hailed  as  a  very  comfortable 
home.  But  it  is  contrast  that  causes  the  pang 
in  reverses  that  constitute  a  great  deal  of  the 
suffering  that  many  experience  on  a  change  of  cir- 
cumstances. Here  there  was  really  enough  to  be 
found  for  man's  daily  wants  —  shelter,  plenty  of 
food,  and  means  to  procure  comforts  and  clothing ; 
but  those  whose  lives  have  been  spent  in  gilded 
halls,  cannot  at  once  realize  that  "  man  wants  but 
little;"  and,  therefore,  our  friends  gazed  in  aston- 
ishment at  the  small  rooms,  naked  floors,  and 
common  furniture  made  only  of  white  pine,  clean 
indeed,  but  no  better  than  that  used  by  the  vil- 
lagers of  Hausdorff.  A  good  substantial  supper  of 


5G  THE    NEIOHBORS'    CHILDREN. 

broiled  game  partly  soothed  the  disgust  of  Melanie 
and  her  father  ;  but  Lady  Von  Grosse  was  satisfied 
—  she  wanted  solitude,  and  here  she  was  glad 
to  be  secluded,  where  no  one  knew  her,  or  the 
history  of  her  misfortunes,  for  the  occurrence  of 
which  she  felt  herself  so  greatly  to  blame. 

The  Count  soon  began  to  love  his  forest  craft, 
and  became  somewhat  interested ;  but  Melanie 
suffered  the  most  severely  from  the  unpleasant 
novelty  of  their  altered  condition.  Never  having 
been  accustomed  to  pursue  the  slightest  employ- 
ment that  promised  usefulness,  she  found  the 
tedium  of  her  solitary  life  absolutely  frightful. 
Lying  at  a  distance  from  the  high-road,  they  saw 
no  passers-by,  and  neighbours  were  too  far  off;  and 
besides,  being  all  of  the  poorer  classes  —  colliers, 
laborer's,  wood-cutters,  and  so  forth  —  the  compa- 
nionship would  have  availed  little  to  the  Von 
Grosse  family,  even  had  they  become  acquainted 
with  those  who  in  rank,  tastes,  and  education,  were 
so  different  from  themselves.  One  peasant  maiden, 
to  carry  water  and  milk  their  cow,  was  their  only 
servant. 

Madame  Von  Grosse  undertook  the  guidance  of 
her  own  little  household  ;  she  spared  not  herself  in 
the  prosecution  of  her  new  duties  in  this,  to  her, 
unwonted  course  of  life,  and  she  encouraged 
Melanie  to,  and  insisted  upon,  her  faithful  per- 
formance of  her  allotted  share  of  the  labor.  With 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  57 

vrhat  reluctance  did  the  latter  encounter  the  heat 
and  smoke  of  the  kitchen,  when  her  mother  de- 
manded her  assistance,  for  Marie  was  mostly  busied 
with  out-door  work ;  and  how  unwillingly  did  she 
dip  her  hands  in  water,  fearful  that  their  whiteness 
and  delicacy  should  be  spoiled.  But  it  is  astonish- 
ing how  soon  these  notions  pass  off  when^tbeir 
possessor  is  thrown  among  those  who  think  little 
of  such  things.  There  was  no  one  to  admire  her 
fashionable  tournure  —  her  graceful  carriage;  her 
French  phrases,  taught  by  Mademoiselle  Adele, 
were  laid  aside  as  useless ;  for  Marie,  understand- 
ing nothing  but  the  rude  German  spoken  in  her 
native  hills,  stared  in  astonishment  whenever  she 
heard  them  uttered ;  and  Treva,  the  forest-boy 
who  aided  her  father,  was  a  Hungarian,  and  obliged 
for  the  most  part  to  be  silent,  for  his  knowledge 
of  German  Avas  as  yet  very  imperfect. 

The  late  Countess,  laying  aside  all  that  she  had 
at  one  time  imagined  she  could  not  exist  without, 
accommodated  herself  wonderfully  well  to  her 
strange  situation.  The  new  light  that  had  broken 
in  upon  her  hitherto  darkened  heart,  had  wrought 
a  change  in  her  mental  world;  a  transformation 
which  none  but  those  who  "  have  passed  from  dark- 
ness unto  light,"  can  comprehend.  She  went  about 
her  household  occupations  with  quite  as  much 
cheerfulness  as  could  be  expected,  and  perhaps 
'nore ;  for  the  image  of  her  lost  boy  still  existed 


58  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

in  all  the  vividness  of  its  first  coloring  in  her  mo- 
ther's heart ;  but  the  same  spirit  that  had  once 
"brooded  over  the  face  of  the  waters,"  and 
brought  the  rude  elements  into  harmony  and  order, 
had  shed  its  peaceful  influence  there.  Tumult,  and 
passion,  and  strife,  had  forever  subsided ;  old 
things  had  passed  away,  and,  seen  in  another  and 
a  better  light,  all  had  become  new.  "  Be  still,  and 
know  that  I  am  God,"  was  the  whisper  that  brought 
her  back  to  duty  when  a  spirit  of  murmuring 
threatened  to  arise;  and  the  thought  that  time  and 
opportunity  for  saving  her  spoiled  and  neglected 
daughter  had  been  given,  swallowed  up  every  dis- 
position to  repine,  in  thankfulness  for  a  boon  as 
little  deserved,  as  it  had  at  one  time  been  little 
desired. 

Melanie  scarcely  recognised  her  mother,  so  great 
was  the  change.  Would  that  we  could  say  her  own 
was  as  rapid  !  But  the  force  of  example,  whether 
good  or  bad,  bears  insensibly  on  all;  and  now, 
accompanied  by  a  mother's  prayers,  it  was  impos- 
sible it  should  altogether  fail.  With  great  wonder, 
therefore,  she  saw  her  perform  occupations  cheer- 
fully, or  as  a  matter  of  course,  from  which,  not 
long  since,  she  would  have  shrunk  as  degrading ; 
and  Melanie,  who  did  not  want  for  sense,  began 
voluntarily  to  take  her  part ;  and  she  found  it  of 
use  to  herself,  inasmuch  as  she  was  happier,  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  59 

had  less  time  left  her  to  spend  in  regrets  for  the 
gay  pleasures  they  had  lost  with  Hausdorff. 

What  great  kindness  is  ever  mingled  with  the 
discipline  of  our  Heavenly  Father  !  what  drops  of 
mercy  are  ever  poured  in  the  bitter  cup  of  human 
suffering !  none  ever  drank  it  yet  without  this  mix- 
tare,  and  to  none  is  accorded  unmitigated  woe. 
The  same  Arbiter  that  pronounced  the  curse  on 
sin  that  doomed  man  to  earn  his  "bread  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brow  till  he  again  return  to  the  earth 
from  whence  he  was  taken,"  has  lightened  his  own 
seemingly  heavy  sentence  by  rendering  labor  plea- 
sant, and  so  those  once  spoiled  children  of  fortune, 
now  condemned  to  forest-life,  found  out.  Melanie 
experienced  the  possibility  of  being  able  to  exist 
without  the  tableaux,  children's  parties,  and  the- 
atres, which  she  had  considered  as  the  very  cream 
of  enjoyment  during  their  residence  in  the  capital ; 
or  even  the  fine  clothing,  parrots,  doves,  gold-fish, 
and  toys,  with  which,  at  a  later  period,  she  had 
wished  to  awaken  the  envy  of  the  neighbors'  chil- 
dren, when  they  visited  Hausdorff. 

The  calamity  of  one  night  had  caused  all  these 
to  vanish  like  the  winter's  snow,  that  falls  upon  the 
running  stream ;  and  yet  here,  without  any  of 
those  resources  even  by  the  aid  of  which  time  used 
to  pass  heavily,  existence  could  not  only  be  en- 
dured, but  was  found  to  have  charms. 

There  was  a  time  when  she  would  have  disdained 
27 


60      THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

to  notice  a  being  so  humble  as  their  poor  Marie. 
But  now,  cut  off  from  all  other  companionship, 
•when  the  weather  was  bad,  and  they  were  confined 
within  doors,  she  listened  with  interest  to  the  tales 
she  would  tell  of  her  native  and  far-distant  valley, 
where  she  had  left  parents,  and  sisters,  and  bro- 
thers ;  and  as  her  cheek  would  glow,  and  her  eyes 
glisten,  as  she  spoke  of  her  dear  ones  far  away, 
Melanie  learned  that  human  sympathies  exist  in  as 
full  force,  if  not  greater,  in  the  hearts  of  the  lowly, 
than  in  those  of  whom  the  world  and  its  follies 
have  divided  the  affections. 

Instead  of  lolling  in  a  luxurious  carriage,  in- 
dulging in  thoughts  of  how  she  was  to  excite  the 
envy  or  admiration  of  those  she  was  going  to  visit, 
her  only  recreation  was  a  walk  through  the  forest, 
and  to  a  lover  of  nature  none  other  is  so  delight- 
ful ;  but  the  poor  girl's  taste  had  never  been  trained 
in  this  direction,  and  the  mysterious  and  wondrousv 
treasures  to  be  found  in  the  stores  of  that  benevo- 
lent and  provident  benefactress,  were  as  yet  as  a 
sealed  book  to  her. 

She  had  not  learned  to  trace  the  mighty  Hand 
so  visibly  displayed  around  her  —  the  rude  and 
knotted  oaks  chronicled  no  history  for  her  perusal 
—  the  sterile  rock  and  barren  plain  were  but  the 
sterile  rock  and  barren  plain  on  which  the  sun 
shone,  or  the  rain  fell.  They  speak  with  a  loud 
voice  to  those  who  look  through  "nature,  up  to 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  61 

nature's  God;"  but  to  her  they  were  mute.  She 
saw  the  eagle  as  he  soared  over  the  cliffs  —  the 
clouds  that  floated  through  the  blue  expanse  of 
Heaven  —  but  she  had  never  thought  by  what 
Power  they  were  sustained.  Surrounded,  then,  by 
a  source  of  pleasure  of  the  loftiest  and  purest  kind, 
she  was  for  a  long  time  insensible  to  the  enjoy- 
ments within  her  reach.  The  sweet  odor  of  the 
pines  was  unheeded,  as  in  her  forest-walk  she 
brushed  their  hanging  branches  aside ;  the  breeze 
that  swayed  the  oaks — the  zephyrs  that  whispered 
in  the  foliage  —  the  many-colored  dyes  with  which 
late  autumn  was  now  clothing  the  moss,  shrubs, 
and  plants,  were  viewed  with  indifference.  The 
deep  and  solemn  stillness  alarmed  her  —  she  trem- 
bled and  started  at  the  flitting  of  every  bird. 

But  it  is  impossible  to  dwell  thus  alone,  as  she 
was,  amid  the  potent  charms  of  nature,  and  not  be 
operated  upon  by  their  influence.  She  will  com- 
mune with  us  whether  we  are  willing  or  not ;  and 
as  partaking  a  portion  of  herself,  we  must  listen — 
the  universal  mother  claims  her  right,  and  we  yield 
to  her  benign  and  gentle  teaching.  And  so  our 
poor  Melanie,  though  she  at  first  understood  not 
the  voice  that  spoke  to  her  from  this  consecrated 
loneliness,  telling  her  that  God  is  not  only  every 
where,  but  every  where  good,  at  length  began  to 
awake  to  better  feelings ;  although  it  was  long  ere 
she  comprehended  why  or  how  they  came.  She 


62  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

thought  of  her  brother,  and  wept.  Ah !  what 
would  she  not  have  given  that  he  were  once  more 
with  her  to  share  her  cottage-life  —  that  she  might 
be  with  him  in  his  sports  in  the  wood  —  that  they 
might  converse  together  as  they  used  to  do  ?  She 
would  no  more  be  jealous  of,  nor  quarrel  with  him ; 
no !  in  that  lonely  forest-dwelling,  she  would  be  to 
him  a  tender  and  affectionate  sister.  The  thought 
that  all  her  repentance  was  in  vain  —  that  he  was 
gone  forever  —  began  to  soften  the  heart  hitherto 
so  hard,  and  awoke  in  her  a  determination  to  try 
and  make  herself  the  happiness  of  those  parents 
who  had  suffered  so  greatly  ;  and  she  found  her 
own  in  the  effort.  Nevertheless,  the  remembrance 
of  Eugene  still  kept  its  place  as  vividly  as  ever, 
and  served  not  only  to  strengthen  her  in  her  new 
resolution,  but  was  the  constant  subject  of  her 
meditation  during  the  cheerless  walks  she  took 
through  the  forest  by  herself. 

Little  by  little,  however,  she  became  sensible  of 
the  charms  by  which  she  was  surrounded.  She 
was  quite  happy  if  she  found  some  late  straw- 
berries that  she  could  carry  to  her  mother,  or 
discovered  some  flower  of  which  she  did  not  know 
the  name,  or  watched  some  lively  squirrel  as  he 
leaped  from  branch  to  branch,  or  bounded  from 
tree  to  tree.  How  she  wished  he  would  let  her 
catch  him  !  she  wanted  a  companion  so  much,  she 
would  love  him  so  well,  and  treat  him  so  kindly ; 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  63 

but  the  nimble  little  fellow  was  perfectly  satisfied 
where  he  was — his  hollow  tree  was  his  palace,  and 
that  wild  wood  his  park.  He  was  not  ambitious 
of  human  society ;  he  preferred  cracking  his  nuts 
himself,  and  where  he  felt  at  liberty  to  eat  as  many 
as  he  wanted.  Although  she  often  ran  after  him, 
he  was  not  frightened,  he  could  trust  to  his  own 
speed ;  and  there  every  day  as  she  walked,  she 
would  see  him  in  her  path,  gazing  with  his  bright 
eyes  upon  her,  nor  turning  to  run  until  she  came 
so  close  that  she  was  sure  he  could  not  escape. 

One  day  she  pursued  him  for  nearly  an  hour,  so 
closely,  that  sometimes  she  believed  she  had  only 
to  put  out  her  hand  and  take  him,  when,  quick  as 
lightning,  he  would  vanish,  and,  after  a  time,  re- 
appear. A  little  out  of  humor  at  her  want  of 
success,  and  heated  and  weary  with  her  fruitless 
chase,  she  sat  down  on  a  moss-covered  rock  to  rest; 
but  as  she  rose  to  return,  with  horror  and  affright 
remarked  that  she  was  in  an  unknown  part  of  the 
forest,  and  far  from  any  road.  Dreading  that  she 
had  lost  her  way,  she  endeavored  to  retrace  her 
steps ;  but  this  was  easier  resolved  on  than  accom- 
plished. A  cold  autumnal  wind  swept  through  the 
wood,  and  stripped  the  dry  leaves  from  the 
branches,  strewing  them  so  thickly  on  the  ground 
that  the  path,  if  there  was  any,  could  not  be  dis- 
covered ;  her  limbs  trembled  with  weariness,  her 
lips  were  parched  with  thirst,  and  she  was  tortured 
27* 


64  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

•with  fear.  A  few  stunted  bushes,  on  whose 
branches  some  small  dark-blue  berries,  spared  by 
the  early  frost,  still  hung,  would  have  served 
to  moisten  her  dry  palate ;  but  she  feared  they 
were  poisonous,  and  so  did  not  venture  to  taste 
them.  Involuntarily,  at  this  moment  she  thought 
of  her  young  friends  the  Lindenburgs  —  those 
"dancing  bears,"  as  poor  Eugene  and  herself  had 
nick-named  them  —  how  they  two  had  ridiculed 
them  for  their  studies  in  Botany  and  Natural 
History;  a  very  slender  knowledge  of  which  would 
at  this  moment  have  shown  her  that  humble  bil- 
berries could  be  eaten  without  danger,  proving  a 
cordial  of  nature's  providing  for  the  denizens  of 
the  forest.  The  deepening  shadows  of  the  wood, 
on  which  the  sun's  rays  were  now  obliquely  falling, 
increased  her  painful  feelings  by  reminding  her  of 
the  approach  of  night.  What  would  become  of  a 
timid  maiden,  alone  and  half-fainting,  in  that  lonely 
spot,  exposed  to  the  chill  frost  of  autumn,  and 
danger  from  wild  and  roaming  beasts? 

Among  all  the  sins  that  had  arrayed  themselves 
to  appear  before  her  in  these  moments  of  horror, 
the  thought  of  what  she  had  once  caused  the 
amiable  little  Ehrenfried  to  suffer,  gave  her  the 
most  pain.  She  imagined  how  he  had  felt  when 
alone  in  the  Steinrode  woods,  where  she  had  sent 
him  on  an  errand  she  knew  he  could  not  accom- 
plish, enduring  the  pain  from  a  lately-broken  limb: 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  65 

and  repentance  visited  her  now  for  all  her  mis- 
deeds, with  a  many-pointed  scourge,  from  which 
she  could  not  turn  away.  She  wept  bitterly,  and 
acknowledged  her  punishment  was  just. 

"0,  have  I  not  been  wicked  and  foolish?"  said 
she  aloud,  in  poignant  self-reproach ;  "  surely  God 
has  sent  this  trouble  upon  me  for  my  cruelty  and 
falsehood.  I  must  wander  all  night  in  this  wild 
place,  and  perhaps  be  devoured  by  wolves.  Oh ! 
if  I  can  only  find  my  way  out,  I  will  never  — 
never  do  such  wrong  to  any  one  again." 

Setting  forward  with  new  determination,  she 
pressed  as  resolutely  onward  as  her  failing  strength 
permitted ;  stumbling,  at  times,  over  some  fallen 
branch  that  was  half-buried  by  the  leaves  that  lay 
thickly  strewn  around.  With  eyes  dimmed  by  the 
tears  she  had  been  shedding,  she  had  failed  to 
perceive  that  her  way  was  becoming  easier,  the 
thicket  less  tangled,  and  the  trees  did  not  stand  so 
close  together ;  until  a  cloud  of  smoke  made  itself 
visible  above  their  tops,  and  the  barking  of  a  dog 
was  heard.  There  was  yet  daylight  enough  to 
discern  this,  and  most  joyfully  did  Melanie  hail 
both  sight  and  sound.  Fresh  courage  was  given  to 
her  spirit,  and  new  strength  to  her  limbs ;  a  few 
moments  more,  and  her  heart  beat  in  grateful  sur- 
prise when  she  came  in  view  of  a  small  cottage, 
which,  from  its  rude  appearance,  was  probably  the 
home  of  some  wood-cutter.  Towards  it  she  hastily 


DO        THE  NEIGHBORS  CHILDREN. 

bent  her  steps,  for  there  she  hoped  to  find  some 
human  beings  who  would  direct  or  show  her  the 
way  to  her  home.  But  all  at  once,  struck  by  a 
sudden  thought,  she  stood  still. 

"How  do  I  know,"  she  inquired  of  herself, 
"  what  kind  of  people  live  there  ?  They  might  be 
wicked  and  bad,  like  those  that  Marie  tells  me  are 
found  dwelling  in  the  Hartz,  and  will  take  my 
clothing  from  me,  and  kill  me.  At  any  rate,  they 
will  not  show  me  the  way  out  of  this  dreadful 
forest  without  I  pay  them  for  it,  and  how  am  I  to 
do  so  when  I  have  no  money — I,  that  used  to  have 
so  much ;"  and  she  began  to  woep  anew. 

Poor  little  maiden !  how  natural  it  was  she 
should  have  no  confidence  in  others,  since  her  own 
previous  life  had  been  one  tissue  of  falsehood  and 
deceit.  She  knew  of  nothing  but  selfishness  — 
supposed  that  to  be  poor  people  must  necessarily 
be  wicked  —  and  never  heard  that  God  oftenest 
chose  his  treasured  ones  from  among  the  lowliest 
children  of  the  earth. 

As  she  thus  stood  lingering  and  irresolute  before 
the  hut,  desiring  yet  fearing  to  ask  assistance  from 
the  occupants,  the  door  suddenly  opened,  and  a 
little  boy  with  light  curly  hair,  and  cheeks  as  red 
as  any  rose,  bounded  towards  the  spot  where  she 
remained  as  if  rooted  to  the  ground.  He  did  not 
notice  her  in  the  now  fading  light,  but  called 
loudly,  "  Micky  !  Micky  !  where  are  you  hiding 9 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  67 

Ah!  you  sly  villain!  there  you  are,"  he  continued, 
and  his  bright  eyes  sparkled  -with  joy  as  a  young 
goat  came  springing  from  behind  some  bushes 
towards  him,  still  holding  some  of  the  fresh  leaves 
it  had  been  nibbling  at,  between  its  small  lips ;  it 
skipped  and  played  as  though  perfectly  at  home 
with  its  merry  companion,  answering  his  bantering 
gestures  with  many  a  threatening  bound,  and  pre- 
senting his  bowed  head  to  his  youthful  antagonist, 
as  if  in  comic  expectation  of  a  sham  battle.  But 
just  as  the  mimic  warfare  was  about  to  commence, 
the  boy  espied  our  poor  Melanie ;  and  bestowing 
no  further  attention  on  his  goat,  who  yet  reminded 
him  of  his  vicinity  by  some  tolerably  rude  thrusts, 
he  approached  her ;  and  one  glance  at  the  sweet 
and  child-like  countenance  that  met  her  gaze,  was 
sufficient  to  disarm  her  of  all  suspicion. 

No  one  could  look  into  those  clear  blue  eyes  and 
doubt ;  his  clothes  were  of  the  coarsest  and  poor- 
est kind,  but  clean  and  whole ;  and,  completely  re- 
assured by  his  frank  bearing  and  uncommon 
beauty,  she  enquired : 

"  Do  you  know  any  one  who  could  direct  or 
place  me  on  the  road  leading  to  the  forest  lodge  ? 
I  have  lost  my  way." 

"  I  do  not  know  myself,  but  I  will  go  and  ask 
my  mother,"  was  the  unembarrassed  answer;  "but 
won't  you  come  in  and  rest  yourself  a  bit  ?  You 
must  be  tired  and  may  be  hungry,  if  you  have 


68  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

been  lost  in  the  woods.  It  is  funny  you  should  be 
lost ;  I  could  not  get  lost,  for  I  know  all  the  trees, 
and  go  ever  so  far  into  the  forest  every  day. 
Come  now — don't  be  afraid  of  Micky ;  he  is  only 
in  fun  when  he  pokes  me  so.  I  learned  him  to  do 
so — indeed  he  won't  hurt  you,"  and  as  if  to  assure 
the  timid  maiden  of  his  protection,  he  took  her  by 
the  hand  and  led  her  towards  the  cottage.  One 
year  ago,  and  the  haughty  Melanie  would  have 
shrunk  from  a  peasant's  touch  as  though  contami- 
nation, like  the  plague-spot,  should  be  communi- 
cated ;  but  the  dawning  light  that  had  now  begun, 
dimly,  indeed,  as  yet,  to  disperse  the  dark  night 
that  enveloped  her  soul,  had  given  her  a  wider 
and  better  range  of  vision ;  but  much  had  yet  to 
be  done  and  learned,  until  it  should  shine  forth 
unto  the  full  and  perfect  day.  Grace  only  can 
effect  such  change ;  for  it  is  only  by  grace  any  are 
made  to  know  themselves,  God  through  his  good- 
ness leading  them  to  repentance. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  69 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  They  ask  no  more  than  simple  nature  gives, 
They  love  their  mountains,  and  enjoy  their  storms." 

THE  family  that  dwelt  within  the  lowly  hut  that 
awakened  both  joy  and  suspicion  in  the  mind  of 
Melanie  when  she  first  espied  it,  was  that  of  a  col- 
lier, who,  in  his  laborious  task  of  attending  his 
coal-pits,  which  were  at  a  distance,  was  seldom  able 
to  be  at  home.  The  forests  of  the  Hartz,  seem- 
ingly inexhaustible,  furnish  great  facilities  for 
those  who  can  earn  a  livelihood  in  this  manner ; 
and  little  is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  if  some  marvel- 
loving  traveller,  having  no  more  than  sufficient 
brains,  encountering  these  smoke-begrimed  men 
pursuing  their  lonely  occupation  in  these  vast  soli- 
tudes, should  have  imagined  them  the  same  beings 
with  which  superstition  peopled  those  regions  long 
ago,  and  tradition  has  not  failed  to  perpetuate. 
Melanie  had  never  yet  set  foot  in  a  place  where 
poverty  so  great  as  this  had  made  her  dwelling ; 
yet  it  was  not  squalid  poverty,  for  all  was  clean. 
Four  children  belonged  to  the  humble  pair,  three 
of  which  were  seated  at  a  rude  deal  table,  on  which 
the  mother  was  placing  a  large  earthen  dish  of 
boiled  milk  :  a  heaped-up  pile  of  coarse  black  bread 


TO        THE  NEIGHBORS  CHILDREN. 

served  on  a  plate  of  the  same  primitive  kind  of 
ware,  showed  that  good  appetites  were  expected  to 
give  zest  to  a  meal  from  which  an  epicure  would 
have  turned  with  disgust,  but  which  to  these  simple 
children  of  the  forest  was  really  luxurious.  The 
father  as  usual  was  absent ;  the  mother  was  about 
to  take  her  place  at  the  table,  when  she  missed 
Fritz,  the  little  fellow  who  had  gone  out  to  look 
after  his  goat. 

"Fritz,  where  are  you?"  she  cried  aloud;  "we 
are  going  to  supper ;  come  quickly  !  we  are  wait- 
ing to  ask  a  blessing  —  never  mind  your  goat. 
Ah!"  she  continued,  as  the  boy  appeared  in  answer 
to  the  call,  leading  Melanie  by  the  hand ;  "  here 
we  have  an  unexpected  guest;  move  closer  together, 
children;  one  of  you — Henry — give  the  maiden 
your  chair ;  poor  thing  !  she  looks  faint  and  tired." 

"  I  am,  indeed,"  said  the  poor  girl,  timidly ;  "  I 
have  lost  my  way,  and  would  gladly  be  directed 
how  to  find  it  back  to  the  forest  lodge,  where  my 
father  lives  as  warden." 

"  Yes,  you  surely  shall  be  shown  the  way," 
answered  the  mother,  whose  every  feature  beamed 
with  good-humour  and  contentment;  "Joseph  my 
eldest  boy  shall  go  with  you ;  but  now  sit  up  to 
the  table  and  eat  some  bread  and  milk ;  you  must 
be  hungry  after  wandering  so  long ;  and  you  will 
need  something  to  strengthen  you,  for  the  road  you 
have  to  go  is  a  long  one." 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  71 

Melanie,  exhausted  by  her  long  walk,  sunk 
altogether  on  the  wooden  bench,  where  the  children 
very  cheerfully  made  room  for  her.  The  collier's 
wife  sought  very  carefully  in  the  table-drawer  for 
something  she  did  not  seem  readily  to  find ;  but 
little  Fritz,  divining  her  intention,  cried  out, 
"Mother,  you  need  not  hunt  for  father's  spoon,  for 
he  took  it  with  him  ;  "  then  turning  to  Melanie 
he  asked  her,  while  his  blue  eyes  beamed  with 
sincerity,  "will  you  eat  with  my  spoon  —  I  can 
wait  until  you  are  done  ;  see,  my  spoon  is  the 
prettiest  of  all,  for  it  is  new  and  shining." 

The  delicately  nurtured  damsel  hesitated ;  but 
hunger  and  thirst,  both  severe  masters,  forced  her 
to  comply.  How  delightful  did  that  fresh  milk 
taste,  though  it  was  eaten  with  a  pewter  spoon, 
and  from  an  earthen  dish  —  how  sweet  was  that 
coarse  bread,  though  cut  in  thick  slices,  and  par- 
taken of  with  a  common  labourer's  half-clothed 
children,  such  as,  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity 
and  supercilious  arrogance,  she  would  not  have 
suffered  to  come  near  her ! 

But  they  had  no  idea  of  the  distinction  which 
rank  imposes ;  but  free  as  their  native  oaks,  or  the 
air  that  blows  over  their  native  hills,  they  felt  on 
a  perfect  equality  with  their  new  guest,  and  could 
not  have  been  made  to  comprehend  that  there  was 
any  difference  between  them,  or  by  what  law  those 
differences  which  the  world  acknowledges  were 
28 


72  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

made.  She  was  wandering  and  a  stranger ;  and 
by  the  law  of  the  gospel,  which  they  well  knew,  if 
they  were  ignorant  of  conventional  forms,  they 
had  "taken  her  in,"  and  through  the  one  of 
natural  hospitality  had  supplied  her  want,  although 
their  own  stores  were  so  scanty,  without  question 
or  demur  —  did  she  think  of  those  then  to  whose 
prayer  she  had  often  turned  a  deaf  ear  —  of  the 
hungry  who,  by  her  order,  had  been  sent  away  ? 
They  knew  nothing  of  her  rank,  neither  would 
they  have  cared  for  it  if  they  had ;  and  happy  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  one  so  young,  they 
began  to  question  her  with  a  familiarity  which 
could  not  offend,  since,  although  open,  it  was  far 
from  being  impertinent. 

"  And  so  you  live  in  this  pretty  forest  the  same 
as  we  do,"  asked  one;  "I  am  sure  you  must  love 
it  —  I  would  not  live  any  place  else.  In  the 
summer  the  nicest,  largest  strawberries  ever  you 
saw  grow  here ;  and  we  often  gather  baskets  full 
of  the  best  mushrooms;  we  will  show  you  where 
to  get  them.  And  in  the  morning  early  it  is  so 
sweet  to  hear  the  birds  sing  before  the  sun  is  up — 
ah  !  I  am  sure  there  is  no  other  place  in  the  whole 
world  so  beautiful  as  our  forest." 

"  I  have  not  been  here  very  long,"  said  Melanie 
in  a  low  voice ;  "  but,  indeed,  I  am  often  right 
lonesome,  and  the  time  seems  very  long  to  me  in 
this  forest  where  one  can  see  nothing  but  trees." 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  73 

"But  don't  you  work  any?"  said  one  of  the  little 
girls  who  had  never  been  lonesome,  although  she 
had  lived  in  a  wood  all  her  life.  "Don't  you  spin, 
and  carry  wood  in  winter,  and  gather  strawberries 
and  mushrooms  in  summer,  and  play  under  the  tall 
trees  as  we  do?"  and  she  fastened  a  pair  of  curious 
little  eyes  upon  the  stranger,  as  if  she  wanted  to 
scrutinize  more  closely  a  person  who  was  lonesome 
and  did  no  work. 

"Do  you  not  see,  Magda,"  said  the  eldest  boy 
Joseph,  "  that  the  stranger  is  not  so  poor  as  we 
are  —  it  is  likely  she  knows  more  than  we  do,  and 
does  more  profitable  and  useful  work  than  picking 
strawberries,  or  gathering  mushrooms." 

"Maybe  not,"  sighed  Melanie  to  herself;  but 
she  said  nothing,  and  cast  her  eyes  in  shame  to  the 
floor.  After  a  few  moments'  silence,  and  feeling 
considerably  refreshed  and  rested,  she  begged 
with  more  courtesy  than  she  had  ever  exhibited  in 
the  whole  course  of  her  life,  "  Will  you  now  be  so 
kind  as  to  show  me  on  my  way  through  the  wood? 
I  am  afraid  my  mother  will  be  very  uneasy  about 
me." 

Joseph  was  ready  in  a  minute ;  he  took  his  cap 
from  the  nail  where  it  hung,  and  stood  beside  the 
door,  waiting  Melanie's  movement.  But  she  hesi- 
tated ;  and  her  voice  trembled  as  she  thanked  the 
good  woman  for  her  supper  of  milk,  "for,"  said 


74  TIL-:  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

she  to  herself,  "she  will,  perhaps,  be  angry  with 
me,  and  will  not  let  her  boy  show  me  the  way  when 
she  finds  I  have  no  money  to  give  her."  But  she 
found  she  was  mistaken  ;  poor  people  can  do  favors 
without  hope  of  reward. 

"We  do  not  want  money,"  said  the  collier's 
wife,  in  answer  to  her  humble  npology  ;  and  reach- 
ing forth  her  hand,  shook  that  of  the  little  maiden 
heartily,  bidding  her  "  God  speed,  and  fail  not  to 
come  again."  Fritz,  on  the  claim  of  being 
Melanie's  first  acquaintance,  accompanied  her  a 
little  way  as  she  followed  her  bare-footed  guide ; 
but  his  mother  had  told  him  not  to  go  too  far. 
With  great  regret  he  took  leave  of  his  new  friend, 
saying,  "Good  night!  good  night!  don't  forget 
to  come  to  see  us  soon  again ;  I  have  so  many 
pretty  things  to  show  you  —  a  bird's  nest  with  six 
young  ones  —  but  we  will  not  rob  it ;  you  will 
surely  not  forget  to  come  ?" 

"No  indeed  I  will  not,"  answered  Melanie,  as 
she  stooped  down  to  pat  his  curly  hair ;  when, 
somewhat  to  her  surprise,  and,  what  is  strange, 
knowing  her  as  well  as  we  do,  not  at  all  to  her  dis- 
pleasure, the  little  fellow  threw  his  arms  around 
her  neck  and  kissed  her  heartily.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  was  out  of  sight,  but  his  merry  voice  call- 
ing out,  "  Micky,  Micky,  come  now  and  run  after 
me,"  was  heard,  and  his  joyous  laugh,  as  he  amused 
himself  with  his  playful  goat,  resounded  through 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.      75 

the    forest,  until    distance    precluded   the    further 
hearing. 

By  this  time  the  moon  had  risen  high  in  the 
heavens,  and  peering  down  through  the  nearly 
naked  branches,  danced  in  flickering  shadows  upon 
the  ground,  and  illumed  the  forest  with  her  silver 
light.  Even  Melanie  was  not  altogether  insensible 
to  the  holy  influence  of  the  sylvan  beauty  that, 
softened  by  the  garish  light  of  day,  speaks  not 
only  to  the  imagination,  but  to  the  heart ;  and  her 
heart,  prepared  as  it  gradually  was  becoming  for 
the  reception  of  good,  was  open  to  the  silent 
eloquence  of  the  appeal.  The  tall  trees  that 
looked  like  white-stoled  priests  in  some  lofty 
temple,  the  night  breeze  that  whispered  through 
them,  and  spoke  its  own  mysterious  language,  the 
stars  that  moved  in  their  potential  courses,  looking 
brighter,  as  seen  through  the  frosty  atmosphere, 
than  usual  —  all  were  appealing  to  her  better  feel- 
ings, and  contributing  to  strengthen  the  dawning 
interest  she  was  beginning  to  have  in  better  things. 
The  scene  of  Christian  contentment  she  had 
witnessed  at  the  collier's  cottage,  the  blessings 
asked  in  the  true  spirit  of  humble  piety  over  a 
meal  more  frugal  than  any  she  had  ever  seen  set 
before  any  family  in  her  life,  the  cheerful  and 
thankful  enjoyment  they  exhibited  in  the  reception 
of  blessings  she  deemed  so  moderate  —  added 
greatly  to  the  view  she  was  beginning  to  have  of 
28* 


76  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

realities  more  important  than  those  vain  shadows, 
as  she  now  recognized  them  which  she  had  been 
pursuing. 

Wondering  at  the  confidence  exhibited  by  her 
little  companion,  as  he  threaded  the  forest  when 
no  path  was  visible,  she  could  not  forbear  asking 
him  by  what  knowledge  he  did  so. 

"Joseph, "she  said  at  last,  "are  you  sure  you 
are  going  right  ?  how  do  you  know  you  are  on  the 
right  road  to  the  lodge  ?  If  I  could  stray  so  in 
the  middle  of  daylight,  is  there  not  danger  that 
we  may  both  get  lost  here  in  the  night  ?" 

"  It  would  not  be  easy  for  me  to  lose  myself  in 
any  part  of  this  wood,"  said  Joseph,  laughing ; 
"  and,  besides,  it  is  not  dark,  for  the  moon  shines 
so  bright  up  there ;  but  I  often  go  when  it  is  pitch 
dark  to  relieve  father  at  the  coal-pits,  and  I  have 
never  lost  my  way." 

"  Well,  but  how  do  you  know  that  you  are  in 
the  right  direction?"  enquired  Melanie ;  "how  do 
you  know  now  that  we  are  going  towards  the 
hunter's  lodge  ?" 

"  Father  has  learned  me  how  to  know  that," 
answered  the  boy ;  "  you  see  that  bright  star  up 
there,"  pointing  to  the  polar  star,  "  that  there  ono 
never  moves  like  the  others ;  and  I  have  only  tc 
keep  it  before,  or  on  one  side,  or  behind  me,  as  I 
wish  to  go,  and  know  where  I  am ;  and  then,  too, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  77 

there  is  the  moss  on  the  trees,  and  the  bark — 0,  I 
can  tell  very  -well  where  I  am." 

Melanie's  thoughts  involuntarily  reverted  to  her 
young  friends  of  Steinrode  ;  she  had  been  mortified 
by,  although  she  pretended  to  despise,  their  superior 
knowledge  in  plainer  and  more  useful  studies  than 
those  she  had  spent  her  whole  time  in  pursuing, 
and  now  she  was  yet  more  ashamed  when  she  was 
made  to  feel  how  much  less  she  knew  than  this 
rude  forest  boy.  She  had  never  heard  Mademoi- 
selle Adele  explain  the  places  or  motions  of  the 
heavenly  bodies  any  more  than  she  had  been 
directed  to  contemplate  the  workings  of  the 
Mighty  Power  which  upholds  them  in  their 
courses ;  she  did  not  even  know  to  what  sciences 
such  studies  belonged.  But  desirous  not  to  appear 
altogether  ignorant,  she  ventured,  though  hesita- 
tingly, to  remark,  "  I  suppose  your  father  must 
teach  you  Natural — "  here  she  stopped ;  she  did 
not  know  what  term  to  conclude  with ;  of  Astron- 
omy she  neither  knew  the  name  or  derivation ;  but 
she  had  heard  the  terms  of  Natural  Philosophy, 
Natural  History,  or  Natural  Science,  used ;  but 
she  really  did  not  know  which  one  would  best 
apply,  so  she  broke  off  suddenly. 

"  Natural  what  ?  "  asked  her  surprised  compan- 
ion ;  "  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  ;  but  I  sup- 
pose it  is  something  you  find  in  books.  Father 
tells  me  people  have  a  great  many;  but  in  our 


78  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

house  we  have  only  two  besides  our  primer  and 
spelling-books — a  prayer  book  and  bible  ;  but  see, 
there  is  your  home ;  "  and  Melanie,  turning  her 
eyes  as  he  directed,  saw  the  white  walls  and  paling 
of  the  garden  belonging  to  the  forest  lodge  dis- 
tinctly through  the  trees.  A  light  glimmered 
through  the  window,  and  Melanie  at  this  moment 
felt  more  of  a  home-feeling  than  she  had  ever  done 
in  her  whole  life  before.  Full  of  gratitude,  she 
begged  her  youthful  guide  to  enter,  that  he  might 
receive  the  reward  he  so  well  merited  ;  but  he  was 
steady  in  refusing. 

"I  cannot,  indeed,"  he  said;  "I  must  now  go 
in  an  opposite  direction ;  it  is  time  to  relieve  father 
at  the  coal-pits;  he  will  be  expecting  me  before 
this  —  so  good  night,  and  take  care  not  to  lose 
yourself  again." 

"  Good  night,"  was  Melanie's  response. 

"  Good  night,"  he  again  repeated  ;  and  turning 
away,  burst  forth  in  a  merry  song,  the  cheerful 
carol  of  which  was  heard  long  after  he  had 
vanished  amid  the  lofty  trees. 

Melanie,  now  that  her  mind  had  not  much  to 
occupy  it,  dwelt  much  upon  this  little  adventure ; 
the  love  of  human  companionship  is  so  natural, 
that  it  gave  her  no  small  pleasure  to  have  found 
out  that  there  were  neighbors  so  near,  although 
they  belonged  to  a  class  that,  a  short  time  before, 
she  would  have  spurned  at  all  intercourse  with  as 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  79 

t 
degrading.     And  now  she  had  not  only  eaten,  and 

held  companionship  with  them,  but  absolutely  loved 
to  think  upon  those  happy-looking  children,  that 
bloomed  in  that  solitude,  fresh  and  rosy  as  the 
wild  hedge-roses,  that  enlivened  the  green  same- 
ness of  the  forest  with  their  presence  and  their 
hue ;  and  scarcely  conscious  of  her  own  intention, 
and  almost  with  surprise  to  herself,  she  one  day, 
not  very  long  after,  found  herself  on  the  way  to 
the  collier's  hut,  Joseph  had  given  her  some 
directions  as  to  the  course  she  was  to  take  until 
she  reached  a  certain  path,  which  would  lead  her 
forward  safely ;  being  one  trodden  by  themselves 
daily  in  passage  to  and  from  the  coal-pits. 

Who  would  noAV  have  recognised  our  haughty 
Melanie,  as  she  amused  herself  for  hours  in  that 
lowly  room,  Avith  a  collier's  children,  cutting  out 
pictures  in  paper  for  them,  and  teaching  them 
plays  ;  and  at  last,  with  great  trouble  to  herself, 
made  a  rag-doll  with  her  own  hands,  and  was  fully 
repaid  for  the  effort  it  cost  her,  by  the  shouts  of 
joy  which  testified  its  approval.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  she  felt  that  she  was  loved  and  wel- 
comed on  her  own  account;  rank  was  of  no  value 
in  a  place  like  this,  and  she  no  longer  shrunk  from 
the  familiarity  of  those  peasant  children,  as  she 
had  done  from  the  humble  courtesies  of  the  amiable 
Ehrenfried,  for  here  all  were  equal.  She  touched 
the  hand,  although  hardened  by  toil,  held  out  to 


80  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

greet  her  by  the  bright-eyed  mother,  without  any 
repugnance.  She  permitted  the  gleeful  children 
to  kiss  her  own,  that  held  the  little  basket  into 
which  they  curiously  peeped,  for  they  knew  it 
contained  treasures  for  themselves.  In  thus  con- 
tributing to  the  happiness  of  others,  she  made  her 
own ;  and  finding  how  valuable  an  antidote  em- 
ployment was  against  ennui  in  a  place  where  there 
was  no  dancing  nor  dressing  for  occupation,  nor 
monkeys  and  parrots  for  amusement,  and  recalling 
the  worsted  spinning  and  knitting  of  the  Linden- 
burgs,  which  she  had  so  much  laughed  at,  she  now 
filled  up  her  own  spare  time  in  similar  useful  works, 
in  the  shape  of  many  caps,  comforters,  and  even 
stockings,  which  under  her  mother's  assistance,  she 
knitted  for  her  new  friends.  Gradually,  thus  she 
began  to  love  work,  and  hate  idleness ;  and  al- 
though, at  first,  all  did  not  go  very  smoothly — the 
spinning  wearied  her,  and  the  knitting-needles  hurt 
her  hands  —  the  pride  she  felt  when  her  task  was 
accomplished,  the  pleasure  she  had  in  bestowing 
the  fruits  of  her  perseverance,  more  than  compen- 
sated her  for  the  efforts  she  made  in  these  attempts 
to  conquer  self.  Nor  was  this  the  only  good  effect 
of  the  great  change  adversity  was  slowly  but  surely 
effecting  in  the  character  of  Melanie ;  for  in  pro- 
portion as  she  tried  to  be  kind  and  useful  to  those 
who  were  not  of  her  own  immediate  household,  so 
she  became  gentle  and  affectionate  at  home,  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  81 

particularly  soothing  and  obedient  to  her  mother — • 
diffusing  sunlight  where  she  formerly  chilled. 

Her  time,  therefore,  passed  pleasantly;  but  by 
degrees,  as  the  season  advanced,  she  had  to  remain 
more  within  doors.  Stern  blasts  sweeping  down 
from  the  mountains,  and  cold  rains,  heralded  the 
approach  of  winter.  Soon  ice  and  snow  blocked 
up  the  way,  and  permitted  little  egress  to  the 
dwellers  in  that  lonely  forest-house.  They  seemed 
shut  out  by  the  freezing  barrier  from  the  rest  of 
the  world ;  no  human  being  broke  in  upon,  and 
pleasantly  interrupted  the  quiet  monotony  of  their 
lives  —  the  faint  sound  of  the  distant  village-bell, 
borne  by  the  winds  as  it  rung  on  the  sabbath,  alone 
reminded  them  that  life  was  around  them.  For 
weeks  together  they  were  unable  to  obey  its  sum- 
mons, for  they  could  not  penetrate  through  the 
piled-up  snow-drifts  that  lay  between  them  and  the 
house  of  prayer.  With  what  longing  did  Melanie 
now  dwell  on  thoughts  of  the  collier's  family ! 
She  was  really  sad  over  the  long  separation ;  and 
often,  often  did  she  walk  out  on  the  snow-covered 
waste,  to  see  if  there  was  any  prospect  of  a  walk 
succeeding.  But  the  voice  that  had  been  awakened 
within  did  not  slumber,  although  nature  lay  buried 
beneath  that  white  shroud.  She  who  had  formerly 
murmured  at  every  little  disappointment,  was  now 
become  patient ;  and  when  she  found  it  impossible 
to  seek  pleasure  abroad,  she  acknowledged  to  her- 


82      THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

self  how  delightful  it  was  to  be  able  to  find  it  at 
home.  In  the  long  winter  evenings,  she  sat  beside 
the  bright  wood-fire  that  blazed  in  the  kitchen- 
hearth,  learning  of  Marie  how  to  spin  flax,  listen- 
ing to  her  simple  legends,  or  learning  some 
mountain  ballad,  which  afterwards  she  would  sing 
to  her  mother. 

At  length  the  long  and  dreary  winter  passed 
away,  and  with  great  joy  Melanie  saw  the  snow 
melt  from  the  foot-path,  and  the  forest  shrubs  raise 
their  heads,  as  if  glad  to  be  released  from  the 
folds  of  his  cold  mantle ;  and  long  before  the 
walking  was  dry,  she  was  on  her  way  to  the  cottage 
of  the  Wilhelms,  for  that  was  the  name  of  her 
collier  friends.  She  often  slipped  on  the  soft  snow, 
the  mud  soiled  her  clothing,  and  the  unwonted  toil 
wearied  her;  but  she  had  forgotten  to  care  for 
such  hindrances,  and  she  only  smiled  to  herself  as 
she  contrasted  her  present  plodding  through  the 
dirt  on  foot,  with  the  luxurious  carriage  in  which 
she  used  to  ride ;  and  admitted  that  happiness  is 
more  equally  distributed  between  the  rich  and 
poor,  by  the  divine  Disposer,  than  most  are  willing 
to  believe. 

The  children,  who  were  clustered  before  the 
little  window,  saw  her  coming,  and  ran  with  shouts 
of  welcome  to  meet  her ;  the  very  dog  was  glad, 
and  barked  and  gambolled  around  her  in  a  manner 
that  almost  made  her  afraid.  The  collier  held  out 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  83 

his  blackened  hand  to  greet  her,  and  Melanie  did 
not  refuse  to  clasp  it  in  her  own.  A  few  minutes 
more,  and  she  was  seated  in  the  midst  of  her  young 
friends.  The  treasures  of  the  basket  were  dis- 
played in  the  shape  of  dried  fruits,  which  they 
devoured  with  great  zest,  as  she  told  them  tales  of 
Mother  Redcap,  and  fairy  Poena,  which  she  learned 
whilst  at  Steinrode ;  or  the  more  marvellous 
legends  of  the  Hartz,  related  by  Marie,  of  little 
Children  having  been  spirited  away,  and  put  into 
dark  caverns,  because  they  were  naughty. 

"  0,  how  many  new  things  you  have  learned 
since  you  were  here!"  said  little  Fritz.  "But 
have  you  learned  any  new  prayers  ?  I  have  learned 
such  a  pretty  one  !  let  me  say  it  to  you :"  and  the 
child,  folding  his  hands,  and  closing  his  eyes, 
looked  like  the  angel  of  supplication,  as  his  sweet 
infantine  voice  addressed  the  Father  whom,  young 
as  he  was.  he  had  been  taught  to  love  and  know. 

Our  Father !  let  ine  pray  to  Thee 

A  pious  child  to  make  of  me. 

Make  me  like  Him  who,  good  and  wise, 

Did  never  little  ones  despise. 

But  if  in  manhood  I  should  stray 

From  this  safe  path.  0,  then  I  pray, 

That  even  in  childhood  Death  may  bear 

Me  to  the  world  where  angels  are. 

I  would  be  like  them,  and  like  Thee, 

Saviour !  who  died  to  ransom  me. 

"Now  I  will  teach  you  that  prayer  if  you  want 
to  learn  it.     Do  n't  you  always  pray  before  you  go 
29 


84      THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

to  sleep  ?  we  all  do,  for  mother  says  the  good 
angels  M'atch  over  children,  if  they  ask  the  kind 
Heavenly  Father  to  let  them." 

Poor  Melanie  cast  down  her  eyes  to  the  floor — 
she  blushed  to  be  taught  a  second  time  by  those 
lowly  children ;  and  as  the  blue  eyes  of  her  inno- 
cent little  favourite  sought  to  read  an  answer  in 
hers,  she  was  glad  to  turn  her  own  away,  for 
the  question  shot  painfully  through  her  heart. 
At  Hausdorff  she  had  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing  as  beginning  and  ending  the  day  with 
prayer.  When  she  was  very  small,  her  French 
bonne  had  always  put  her  to  sleep  by  the  relation 
of  some  pretty  tale ;  and  as  she  grew  older,  her 
head  was  filled  with  love  of  dress  and  other 
vanities ;  they  were  her  first  thought  in  the  morn- 
ing, her  last  at  night ;  in  such  a  frivolous  mind 
there  was  no  place  for  prayer ;  and  at  Steinrode, 
as  we  have  mentioned  at  an  early  period  in  our 
narrative,  she  nor  her  mother  never  would  be 
present  at  the  hour  when  the  prayer  was  made, 
for  both  laughed  at  what,  at  that  time,  they  called 
puritanical  folly.  Her  mother,  though  greatly 
changed,  had  not  yet  become  so  far  learned  in 
spiritual  things  as  to  believe  a  child  could  discern 
the  beauty  of  holiness  ;  her  own  life  was  yet  in  its 
dawning ;  but  God  had  prepared  the  means  for  its 
increase  unto  bright  and  perfect  day. 

Lady  Von  Grosse    had    begun    to    view    thing- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  85 

differently  since  the  supposed  death  of  Eugene ; 
she  had  often  begged  her  to  humble  her  heart 
before  the  Great  Being  who  orders  the  destinies 
of  men ;  but  she  did  not  herself  comprehend  the 
mystery  of  the  second  birth.  She  knew  not  the 
spiritual  meaning  conveyed  in  the  words,  "  Except 
ye  become  as  a  little  child,  ye  cannot  enter  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,"  for  the  Spirit  alone  gives 
power  to  comprehend  its  own  teachings.  Melanie 
was  much  improved,  but  the  foundation  for  true 
piety  had  not  been  properly  laid;  and  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  had  she  this  time  been  re- 
instated in  her  former  brilliant  career,  the  bene- 
ficial effects  of  Adversity's  discipline  would  have 
been  lost. 

The  question  of  the  child,  however,  had  pene- 
trated her  heart ;  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  and 
dropped  upon  the  floor,  and  the  little  boy  was 
troubled  to  see  her  crying. 

"Now  don't  be  so  sorry,"  said  he,  trying  to 
comfort  her,  "  because  you  do  not  know  it.  I  will 
say  it  over  and  over,  and  you  must  tell  it  after 
me,  and  you'll  soon  get  it:"  and  he  repeated  his 
simple  prayer  many  and  many  times,  and  finding 
he  was  about  to  cry  too,  Melanie,  to  comfort  him, 
was  fain  to  be  his  scholar. 

Many  thoughts  agitated  her  bosom  —  Eugene 
had  never  prayed ;  God  had  removed  him  from  the 
earth ;  but  was  he,  she  asked  herself,  with  the 


86        THE  NEIGHBORS  CHILDREN. 

angels?  and  her  tears  flowed  until  her  visit  was 
ended.  She  now  knew  the  whole  wood  in  their 
neighbourhood  so  well,  that  she  feared  not  to 
traverse  the  forest  path  if  it  was  a  little  later  than 
usual ;  and  although  the  whole  place  looked  bleak 
and  winter-stricken,  she  heeded  it  not,  nor  the 
darkness  that  was  clustering  round.  Ere  she 
reached  her  home,  her  heart  was  full ;  the  spirit 
of  prayer  had  begun  its  work  ;  arid  there,  in  that 
holy  consecrated  spot,  where  Nature  daily  hymns 
her  praises,  was  her  prayer  offered.  She  prayed 
with  humility  and  sincerity,  and  her  heart  was 
lighter;  the  cold  bright  moon  seemed  to  look  down 
and  smile  upon  her,  the  only  witness  to  the  vow 
she  uttered  there,  to  begin  with  assisting  grace  a 
better  life.  Her  sleep  that  night  was  sweet  and 
sound ;  her  first  thoughts  on  awakening  were 
directed  to  the  Great  Source  of  light  and  being, 
from  whom  proceedeth  every  good  and  perfect 
gift.  From  this  day  she  went  not  backward — her 
progress  was  slow,  for  she  was  very  ignorant ;  but 
in  the  course  she  had  chosen  to  pursue  she  went  on 
steadily,  although  from  her  faulty  education  she 
had  many  hindrances  to  contend  with.  It  was 
now  that  her  humble  friends  in  the  collier's  cottage 
were  of  real  value  to  her.  They  were  deeply 
pious,  although  ignorant  of  all  those  forms  that 
pass  current  in  the  world ;  their  only  lore  was 
derived  from  an  old  book  which  the  good  woman 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  87 

of  the  house  read  every  day  aloud.  Melanie 
listened  at  first  to  what  she  heard,  then  opened  it 
herself  and  read  here  and  there  out  of  curiosity ; 
but  soon  after  finding  the  contents  to  interest  her 
more  deeply  than  she  at  first  supposed  them  likely 
to  do,  she  carried  the  hook  home  with  her,  that  she 
might  read  it  aloud  to  her  mother.  Eva,  for  that 
was  the  name  of  its  owner,  readily  permitted  her  to 
do  so,  as  they  had  more  than  one ;  and  Melanie 
greatly  rejoiced  at  the  comfort  Lady  Von  Grosse 
experienced  from  the  perusal.  She  had  never 
ceased  to  grieve  for  Eugene ;  and  at  times  her 
sorrow  was  great  as  ever ;  hut  now  it  gradually 
grew  milder ;  and  although  her  tears  still  flowed, 
they  were  not  so  bitter  as  before.  She  listened 
closely  to  the  words  her  daughter  read ;  and  they 
sunk  deep  into  her  heart  —  not  one  escaped. 

"  The  goodness  of  God  is,  that  we  are  not 
entirely  destroyed.  His  compassions  are  new 
every  morning  —  they  have  no  end  ;  and  great  is 
his  faithfulness.  Hear,  0  Lord,  when  I  cry  with 
my  voice  ;  have  mercy  also  upon  me,  and  answer 
me.  For  when  thou,  saidst,  Seek  ye  my  face,  my 
heart  said  unto  thee,  Thy  face,  Lord,  will  I  seek." 
She  saw,  as  though  a  veil  had  been  withdrawn  from 
before  her  mental  vision,  how  sinful  her  whole  life 
had  been,  the  bad  use  she  had  made  of  the  time 
and  gifts  bestowed  by  her  Maker  in  her  days  of 
prosperity,  of  her  wild  and  rebellious  grief  in  the 
29* 


88  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

first  period  of  her  overwhelming  calamity,  which 
had  no  effect  as  to  softening  or  humbling  her 
heart,  until  it  was  followed  by  the  loss  of  Eugene. 

She  contrasted  her  own  conduct  through  the 
whole  of  that  sore  trial  with  that  of  Lady  Linden- 
burg,  who,  strong  in  the  faith  of  Heavenly  Wisdom 
and  Heavenly  Protection,  yielded  so  meekly  to  the 
blow  that  had  fallen,  although  her  mother's  heart 
was  as  deeply  stricken  as  her  own ;  and  now 
believed  that  nothing  but  the  mighty  change  which 
true  religion  can  effect,  could  enable  any  one  to 
bear,  as  she  had  done,  a  change  at  the  mention  of 
which  she  had  always  laughed  at  as  chimerical, 
having  no  existence  but  in  the  brain  of  fanatics. 
But  now  her  eyes  were  open  to  behold  the  true 
light  —  she  read  in  the  Holy  Book  that  the  Cross 
is  accessible  to  all ;  and  thither  she  repaired,  that 
beneath  its  shadow  she  might  find  comfort  and 
salvation,  that  is  only  to  be  found  there.  And 
•when  at  seasons  almost  discouraged  by  the  remem- 
brance of  what  she  had  been,  she  read  how  God 
had  brought  one  who  was  as  great  a  sinner  as  her- 
self "up  out  of  an  horrible  pit,  out  of  the  miry 
clay,  and  set  my  feet  upon  a  rock,  and  established 
my  goings." 

It  is  astonishing  what  a  closely  sealed  book  the 
bible  is  until  the  convicting  Spirit  shows  what 
high  interest  belongs  to  its  perusal.  A  "  stumbling 
block  and  foolishness"  to  those  who  look  no  further 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  89 

than  this  unsatisfying  world ;  no  sooner  does  the 
Mighty  Spirit  brood  over  the  darkened  heart,  than 
all  obscurity  is  removed — it  is  then  their  study  and 
admiration,  unfolding  the  "  mystery  of  godliness, 
and  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Christ."  Happy  for  our 
sufferers  that  they  found  it  so ;  for  although  no 
chastening  for  the  present  seemeth  to  be  joyous, 
"yet  bringeth  forth  the  peaceable  fruits  of 
righteousness"  to  such  as  endure  the  chastisement, 
all  shall  at  length  be  merged  in  an  "eternal  weight 
of  glory." 

Clouded  as  their  minds  had  been,  their  progress 
in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  belonging  to  the 
divine  life  was  at  first  tardy ;  but  the  humility 
they  had  now  learned  to  exercise,  led  them  to  seek 
assistance  from  others ;  and  Melanie  becoming 
acquainted  with  the  grey-haired  pastor  of  the 
village  church  to  which,  when  the  weather  per- 
mitted, she  sometimes  went  with  Eva  and  her 
children ;  the  good  man  began  to  consider  her  as 
one  of  his  flock,  and  included  the  forest  lodge 
•within  the  range  of  his  pastoral  visits ;  a  circum- 
stance which  was  productive  of  great  pleasure  to 
the  inhabitants  of  that  lonely  abode,  and  of  great 
interest  to  himself,  inasmuch  as  he  was  one  whose 
heart  was  in  the  advancement  of  his  Master's 
kingdom. 

To  many  minds,  the  change  that  had  come  over 
the  self-willed,  haughty,  and  falsehood -loving 


90  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

Melanie,  would  seem  incredible.  But  there  are 
many  who  know  that  there  is  no  sinner,  however 
vile,  who  cannot  be  made  a  partaker  of  the  "  sal- 
vation as  it  is  revealed  by  the  cross  of  Christ ;" 
since  the  Scriptures  tell  us  of  those  who  were  justly 
numbered  among  the  vilest,  to  whom  its  saving 
influence  reached.  It  is  indeed  to  such  that  the 
Bible  tells  us  that  the  call  is  most  loudly  made  ; 
since  "  those  that  are  whole  need  not  a  physician, 
"but  those  that  are  sick."  That  they  are  the  sub- 
jects over  whom  mercy  weeps  in  secret  places  — 
whom  by  every  means  and  inducement  it  would 
seek  to  find  out,  and  encourage  to  follow  him  who 
came,  not  to  bring  the  "righteous,  but  sinners  to 
repentance."  Melanie  thought  no  hardship  now 
of  trudging  on  foot  to  the  village-church,  although 
the  way  was  long,  and  the  road  rough,  and  her 
companions  among  the  most  lowly  children  of  the 
earth ;  even  braving  inclement  weather  to  do  so. 
She  had  begun  the  battle  against  herself  in  ear- 
nest ;  and,  aided  from  the  true  Source  to  which 
she  applied,  her  conquest  became  successful.  The 
only  joy  and  comfort  now  of  her  deeply-bowed  and 
mourning  mother,  who  still  wept  over  the  loss  of 
Eugene,  though  much  less  bitterly  than  at  first, 
she  studied  constantly  how  she  could  soothe  and 
cheer  her ;  for  Madame  Von  Grosse,  as  she  saw 
what  Melanie  now  was,  compared  with  what  she 
had  been,  was  but  daily  made  more  sensible  of  her 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  91 

great  fault  in  the  negligent  raising  of  her  children; 
and  as  she  thought  of  Eugene,  and  the  comfort 
and  support  he  might  have  been  to  her,  had  he 
been  properly  instructed,  the  self-reproach  that 
mingled  itself  in  all  her  contemplations,  occasioned 
a  more  bitter  grief  than  even  his  loss. 

Her  husband,  careless  as  ever,  and  thinking  only 
of  his  own  gratification,  made  every  excuse  for 
frequent  visits  to  the  capital,  where  he  remained 
for  weeks  at  a  time,  on  the  plea  of  seeking  for  a 
situation  ;  caring  not  that  he  left  those  lonely  ones 
without  protection  save  from  the  young  Hungarian, 
Triva,  who  assisted  him  in  his  office  as  forest- 
ranger.  Fortunately,  he  was  faithful.  Marie, 
uncorrupted  by  the  ways  of  the  world  that  lay  too 
far  off  to  be  imitated  by  the  dwellers  in  that  remote 
region,  was  excellent  in  her  capacity  of  a  servant; 
and  Melanie  and  her  mother,  as  time  rolled  on, 
found  out  that  they  had  much  more  to  be  thankful 
for  than,  on  their  first  arrival  in  that  lonely  place, 
they  could,  have  possibly  anticipated ;  so  true  is  it 
that  the  means  of  happiness  are  ever  within  our- 
selves. 


92  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER  V. 


"  Vex  not  yourself,  nor  strive  not  with  your  breath, 
For  all  in  vain  comes  counsel  to  his  ear." 


WE  must  now  leave  the  family  at  the  forest- 
lodge  to  pursue  the  new  course  of  life  on  which 
they  had  entered,  to  look  after  the  boys ;  whom, 
when  we  left  them,  Dietrich  was  bearing  through 
wilds  almost  impervious,  and  roads  scarcely  pas- 
sable, far — far  from  their  homes.  For  many  miles, 
no  words  were  spoken  save  those  when  their  captor 
threatened  them,  if  they  made  the  least  outcry; 
their  stout  horse  carried  them  briskly  forward 
through  lonely  and  unfrequented  ways,  and  gra- 
dually the  face  of  the  country  began  to  change. 
The  Silesian  Mountains  had  grown  dim  in  the 
distance ;  old  Zobtenberg  was  no  longer  seen,  and 
the  flat  and  level  plains  over  which  they  now  rolled 
rapidly,  presented  features  of  a  country  very 
different  from  those  which  they  had  loved  to  look 
upon  in  their  own.  The  Carpathian  Mountains 
loomed  high  and  blue  in  the  distance ;  Large  streams, 
rendered  passable  by  fragile  bridges,  of  which  the 
wrecks  of  such  as  had  spanned  them  before  being 
carried  away  by  the  rapid  torrents  of  autumn,  lay 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  93 

strewn  around ;  wastes  of  scanty  and  discolored 
grass,  extending  in  wearisome  uniformity,  and 
broken  only  by  alternating  bogs  and  sand-pits,  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  gave  the  whole  a  deso- 
late and  monotonous  aspect,  which  increased  the 
melancholy  of  our  young  and  hapless  travellers. 

For  the  first  day,  no  sign  of  human  habitation 
enlivened  the  dreary  scene.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  gloomy  landscape  to  whisper  hope,  or  create  a 
softer  mood  in  the  minds  of  our  three  acquaint- 
ances ;  nothing  in  the  external  objects  which  every 
where  met  the  eye,  to  divert  them  from  their 
inward  broodings.  With  extraordinary  rapidity 
they  hurried  along.  For  hours,  neither  of  the  boys 
ventured  to  break  the  enforced  silence ;  since  the 
countenance  of  Dietrich  bore  evidence  of  his  sin- 
cerity in  the  threatened  punishment  which  was  to 
follow  disobedience.  The  day,  as  we  have  said, 
Avas  drizzly  and  rainy ;  and  as  it  advanced  towards 
its  close,  became  wild  and  stormy;  heightening  the 
horror  of  their  condition,  if  indeed  by  any  out- 
ward circumstance  it  could  be  increased.  Dietrich, 
as  they  travelled,  had  offered  them  some  coarse  but 
wholesome  food,  which  Eugene  had  scornfully 
refused,  and  at  this  time  was  really  very  sick  from 
inanition  ;  but  Felix,  who  saw  no  use  in  provoking 
one  from  whose  power  they  could  not  escape, 
thought  it  best  to  yield  to  him  in  all  that  he 
desired,  although  he  could  not  imagine  what  were 


94  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

his  intentions,  or  by  what  means  he  had  become 
his  enemy. 

While  Eugene  thus,  by  his  refractory  behaviour, 
yet  the  more  punished  himself,  and  lay  groaning 
and  weeping  in  the  bottom  of  the  waggon,  Felix, 
though  he  made  no  noisy  demonstrations  of  grief, 
was  no  less  sad.  He  thought  over  the  separation 
from  his  home,  and  his  loved  ones  there  —  of  the 
trouble  and  sorrow  his  sudden  disappearance  would 
cause ,  and  self-reproach  for  the  disobedience  of 
which  he  had  been  guilty,  added  greater  poignancy 
to  his  feelings. 

"  My  dear,  dear  mother,"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  recalled  her  image,  and  her  last  kiss,  and  the 
quick  tears  coursed  one  after  the  other  down  his 
cheeks ;  "  I  have  deserved  to  suffer,  since  I  dis- 
obeyed you ;  had  I  only  returned  as  you  bade 
me,  and  not  broken  the  promise  I  made  —  had  I 
repressed  the  idle  curiosity  that  led  me  to  trans- 
gress, I  should  at  this  moment  have  been  happy 
with  you,  instead  of  travelling  I  know  not  whither, 
or  for  why." 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Dietrich  drew 
up  at  a  spot  on  the  waste,  where  a  few  stunted 
trees,  and  a  smoke-blackened  rock,  showed  that 
gypsies  or  travelling  tinkers  had  occupied  the  spot 
before  themselves,  and  promised  to  afford  a  kind 
of  shelter  from  the  pelting  rain.  He  then  took  a 
bag  of  corn  and  some  hay  from  the  waggon,  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  95 

began  to  make  some  arrangements  for  passing  the 
night.  He  unharnessed  the  horse  ;  and,  carefully 
rubbing  him  down,  made  the  animal  as  comfortable 
as  circumstances  admitted.  Felix  asked  permission 
to  assist  him,  which  the  old  man  granted ;  and  the 
boy  observed  that  his  countenance  was  considerably 
softened  in  its  expression.  Venturing  on  this 
account  to  speak,  although  almost  dreading  to  do 
so,  he  asked  their  rude  guide  if  he  would  not  at 
least  tell  them  where  they  were  going ;  and  he  was 
answered  with  much  more  mildness  than  he  ex- 
pected. 

"Be  easy  —  you  have  nothing  to  fear,  for  you 
shall  see  your  home  and  parents  again  ;  but  now 
there  is  nothing  that  you  can  do  better  than  to  be 
quiet,  and  yield  to  my  will." 

He  then  brought  forth  some  more  food,  which 
he  offered  to  both,  and  Eugene  did  not  at  this  time 
refuse ;  and  spreading  some  coarse  cloths  over 
them,  after  he  had  bidden  them  lie  down  on  some 
straw  in  the  bottom  of  the  waggon,  and  go  to  sleep, 
he  seated  himself  under  the  shelter  of  the  pro- 
jecting rock,  and  fell  into  his  usual  mood  of 
gloomy  musings,  which  were  not  at  all  interrupted 
by  the  wind  and  rain,  that  swept  in  driving  gusts 
around  him. 

He  awoke  the  boys  at  an  early  hour ;  the  storm 
had  passed  away,  and  all  looked  brighter ;  their 
horses,  refreshed  by  rest  and  food,  trotted  merrily 
30 


96  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

onwards ;  and  Dietrich,  although  moody,  was  by 
no  means  unkind  to  himself,  although  to  Eugene, 
who  would  not  obey  his  summons  to  arise,  he  gave 
a  sound  drubbing.  This  he  resented  to  the  utmost 
of  his  power ;  but  he  had  to  yield  to  his  enemy's 
superior  force;  but  he  revenged  himself  as  far  as 
he  was  able  by  uttering  all  sorts  of  invectives  and 
threats  of  future  punishment  to  be  inflicted  by 
his  father  for  such  treatment  of  a  nobleman's  son, 
which  was  listened  to  with  as  much  indifference  as 
they  were  silly  and  impotent. 

Felix,  on  the  other  hand,  soothed  by  the  assu- 
rance that  he  should  again  see  his  parents  and  his 
home,  resolved  to  submit  implicitly  to  the  singular 
old  man,  to  indulge  in  no  useless  complaints,  but 
to  obey,  however  unreasonable  his  demands  might 
be,  hoping  by  this  means  to  be  able  to  shorten  his 
term  of  captivity  and  servitude.  In  view  not  only 
of  this,  but  because  he  could  not  but  observe  the 
marks  of  the  deep  sorrow  which  Dietrich  ever  ex- 
hibited, and  which  greatly  excited  his  boyish  com- 
passion, although  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of 
its  cause ;  it  was  on  the  second  day  of  their 
journey  that  he  strove  to  engage  him  in  cheerful 
conversation,  and  assist  him  in  such  occupations  as 
he  was  obliged  to  perform  for  their  mutual  benefit 
in  the  course  of  their  travel.  This  day  was  not 
so  dreary  as  the  preceding ;  for  although  Dietrich 
avoided  the  frequented  roads,  that  on  which  they 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDRE?^  97 

now  passed  was  at  intervals  enlivened  by  the  pres- 
ence of  human  beings.  Now  and  then  some 
traveller  was  met  mounted  on  a  mettled  steed, 
hardly  to  be  restrained,  the  graceful  cap  of 
crimson  and  silver,  the  neatly  trimmed  moustache 
and  handsome  form,  bespeaking  the  Polish  noble ; 
but  in  the  swift  passage  of  the  rider,  no  word  for 
assistance  could  be  addressed ;  the  peasants  in 
their  sheepskin  clothing,  or  sometimes  one  whose 
full  robe  and  pointed  cap  proclaimed  him  a  Jew, 
came  by,  and  served  to  convince  Felix,  for  Eugene 
in  his  sullenness  did  not  care  to  know,  that  they 
were  in  the  land  of  serfdom  and  oppression. 
Although  human  habitations  and  villages  were 
again  to  be  seen,  Dietrich  still  carefully  avoided 
them ;  and  as  forests  had  once  more  become 
frequent,  it  was  in  their  deep  shadow  that  they 
mostly  passed  the  night.  Felix  soon  learned  from 
the  old  man  how  to  kindle  a  fire,  for  the  weather 
having  grown  chilly,  it  being  late  autumn,  it  was 
very  necessary ;  and  whilst  he  would  be  absent  at 
some  peasant's  cottage  or  village,  where  he  was 
obliged  to  go  to  purchase  food,  the  boy  did  his 
utmost  to  have  things  in  readiness  against  his 
return. 

Eugene  called  him  a  fool  for  his  pains,  and 
advised  that  they  should  both  get  on  the  horse  and 
ride  off  as  fast  as  they  could  ;  until  his  companion 
represented  that  such  a  course  would  only  make 


98  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

matters  worse,  for  what  could  they  do  in  a  country 
the  language  of  Avhich  they  did  not  understand, 
and  of  whose  localities  they  were  entirely  ignorant. 
So  Eugene  was  obliged  to  be  convinced  of  the 
impracticability  of  such  a  scheme,  although  he  still 
remained  firm  in  his  purpose  of  thwarting  Dietrich, 
in  spite  of  all  that  Felix  could  urge  against  the 
imprudence  of  such  conduct.  The  cheerful  com- 
pliance of  the  latter  in  all  his  requirements 
softened  the  heart  of  Dietrich  greatly  towards 
him  ;  and  one  evening  when  he  had  finished  his 
task  of  gathering  such  grass  as  the  late  autumn 
yet  permitted,  during  the  absence  of  their  con- 
ductor after  provisions,  he  began  to  speak  in  a 
more  confidential  manner  to  him  than  he  had  yet 
done. 

"My  poor  boy,"  said  he,  as  they  were  both 
busy  in  attending  to  their  four-footed  companion, 
whilst  Eugene  lay  stretched  out  sullenly  before  the 
fire  his  companion  had  kindled,  "I  wish  I  could 
send  you  home  to  your  parents.  This  thing  was 
not  intended  for  you,  and  your  friends  are,  no 
doubt,  grieving  for  the  loss  of  such  a  good  lad ; 
and,  besides,  your  are  the  brother  of  that  dear 
little  girl  that  looks  so  like  my  own  Annie,  and 
gave  me  an  alms  without  my  having  asked  any ; 
but  I  dare  not  do  so,  my  own  safety  forbids  it. 
And  then  I  must  not  break  my  word  to  Amade" ; 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  99 

until  he  is  beyond  the  reach  of  danger,  you  must 
stay  with  me ;  I  will  take  care  that  you  get  back." 

"  And  Eugene,  too  ?  "  enquired  the  boy  ;  "  will 
you  not  let  him  go  too  ?  His  parents,  no  doubt, 
grieve  as  much  as  mine;  and  the  indulgence  he 
has  been  accustomed  to  makes  it  harder  for  him  to 
bear  his  present  trial  patiently  than  me.  Won't 
you,  good  Dietrich  —  won't  you  let  him  go  home 
too  ?  " 

Dietrich  laughed  scornfully.  "  No,  my  good 
youth,  no,"  he  replied  in  a  tone  of  determination, 
as  he  set  his  teeth  firmly  together ;  "  the  young 
villain  remains  with  me  until  poverty  and  hardship 
shall  have  taught  him  how  to  feel  for  others,  and 
forced  his  haughty  mind  to  bow,  and  humbled  his 
hard  heart.  He  shall  be  made  to  serve  those 
whom  he,  in  his  day  of  pride,  deemed  little  better 
than  the  brutes  that  perish,  and  whom,  because 
they  were  poor,  he  would  have  trodden  under  foot. 
Do  you  think  that,  after  having  ventured  so  much 
on  this  game,  and  now  having  it  altogether  in  my 
hands,  I  am  going  to  give  up  the  revenge  for 
which  I  so  long  have  panted?" 

"Vengeance  belongs  only  to  God,"  said  Felix; 
"leave  it  to  him  to  humble  the  heart  of  Eugene; 
you  only  bring  sorrow  on  your  own  soul  when  you 
thus  seek  to  revenge  yourself.  Are  you  not  a 
Christian  —  have  you  not  heard  that  it  is  the  duty 
of  such  to  keep  his  commandments  and  do  his 
30* 


100     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 


?  Do  you  not  know  the  prayer  in  which 
Christ  bids  us  ask  forgivness  for  '  our  trespasses, 
even  as  we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us.' 
I  know  a  little  hymn  we  all  learned  at  home  ;  let 
me  say  it  to  you,  Dietrich  ?" 

"  Say  it  if  you  like,"  answered  he,  a  little 
moved  by  the  boy's  earnestness  ;  "  I  believe  you 
are  a  good  lad,  and  mean  well  ;  but  I  tell  you  first, 
I  am  not  much  for  such  things." 

"You  would  be  happier  if  you  were,"  answered 
the  boy  ;  "  0  Dietrich,  if  you  knew  how  happy 
we  all  were  at  home  —  "  his  voice  faltered;  but 
regaining  his  firmness,  after  a  moment's  thought 
repeated  his  hymn  :  — 

To  the  Saviour  on  earth  his  disciples  did  say, 

"  Lord  give  us  thy  spirit,  and  teach  us  to  pray." 

In  wisdom  and  mildness  he  answered  them,  "  Love 

Thy  God  and  each  other,  as  do  angels  above  ; 

Showing  mercy  to  all  who  ask  it  of  thee, 

And  thy  sins,  though  like  scarlet,  remitted  shall  be." 

Does  any  one  wrong  thee?  though  sorely  beset, 

'Tis  the  spirit  of  Heaven    the  blow  to  forget, 

Like  the  breath  of  the  wind  let  its  thoughts  pass  away, 

Vengeance  only  is  God's,  and  he  will  repay. 

Can'st  thou  hope  for  thy  sin  to  find  pardon  in  Heaven, 

If  thy  brother  offending  thou  bast  not  forgiven. 

By  mercy  alone  shall  mercy  be  met, 
When  death  — 

Felix  was  here  suddenly  interrupted  by  Dietrich, 
who,  until  this  moment,  had  listened  in  thoughtful 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN,  101 

silence ;  but  now  he  broke  forth  more  passionately 
than  our  young  friend  had  yet  seen  him. 

" Silence,  boy !  silence!"  he  exclaimed;  "wouldst 
thou  dare  to  attempt  to  alter,  with  the  words  of 
thy  mouth,  that  which  I  have  once  resolved?  the 
purpose,  to  accomplish  which  alone  I  live?" 

His  countenance  had  once  more  resumed  its  wild 
and  painful  expression,  which,  indicative  of  the 
stormy  state  of  his  soul,  had  in  the  beginning  of 
their  journey  so  deeply  moved  the  compassion  of 
Felix.  He  would  have  poured  the  oil  of  consola- 
tion on  its  troubled  sea  —  he  would  have  directed 
him  to  the  One  who  alone  can  say,  "Peace  !"  and 
all  is  still;  but  fearing  to  awake  his  maniac  passion 
by  any  further  words,  he  sat  down,  disappointed, 
frightened,  and  dejected,  near  the  unhappy  being 
who  was  now  the  disposer  of  his  fate,  and  gazed 
upon  him  with  an  interest  in  nowise  lessened  by 
the  temporary  violence  he  had  exhibited. 

But  that  desperate  and  brooding  air  ere  long 
was  changed  for  one  of  more  human  seeming.  He 
leaned  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  sighed  deeply; 
and  although  he  spoke  no  word,  the  looks  that  from 
time  to  time  he  cast  upon  Felix,  showed  that,  al- 
though the  boy  had  ventured  to  touch  a  deeply 
thrilling  chord,  he  bore  him  no  displeasure ;  and 
the  latter,  recovering  from  his  momentary  alarm, 
once  more  began  to  hope  for  better  things.  The 
group  that  sat  in  that  lonely  spot  would  have  pre- 


102  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

sented  a  subject  worthy  of  some  famed  pen  or 
pencil.  The  night,  so  still  and  serene,  with  her 
planets  all  abroad,  speaking  without  a  voice  to  the 
ear,  but  yet  with  an  influence  louder  than  words ; 
the  fire  kindled  against  the  gray  rock,  flashing  up 
bright  and  brilliant,  illumed  the  lonely  wild,  and 
fell  upon  the  faces  of  those  who  were  to  pass  the 
night  in  that  solitary  place ;  revealing,  as  it 
glanced  and  flickered  upon  their  countenances,  the 
emotions  that  swayed  the  heart  of  each.  That 
stern,  dark  man,  with  his  despairing  look,  and  knit 
brow,  would  have  reminded  us  of  one  to  whom  the 
door  of  mercy  and  hope  was  about  to  be  closed  for 
ever ;  but  Felix,  of  the  angel  of  Pity,  who  never 
forsakes  man,  dropping  tears  over  the  calamities 
she  cannot  avert,  and  pleading,  even  until  he  has 
gone  down  to  the  dust  of  which  he  is  a  part :  while 
Eugene,  in  nowise  softened  by  the  sufferings  and 
discipline  to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  nor  ope- 
rated upon  by  any  of  the  influences  around  him, 
was  the  very  impersonation  of  a  revolted  slave. 
The  overwhelming  sense  of  the  injustice  that  had 
been  perpetrated  upon  him,  and  his  indomitable 
pride,  that  yet  blinded  him  to  the  recognition  that 
Dietrich  in  the  first  instance  had  been  wronged, 
had  closed  up  every  avenue  to  better  feelings  in 
his  heart,  producing  more  acerbity  than  even  was 
natural ;  and  woe  and  resentment  steeped  his  soul 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     103 

in  bitterness  that  greatly  increased  the  asperities 
of  his  condition. 

A  different  course  of  conduct  would  have  done 
much  in  soothing  the  savage  vindictiveness  of  the 
misguided  peasant  who  had  him  in  his  power ;  but 
his  faulty  education  stood  in  the  way  of  this.  He 
first  despised  Felix  for  the  "cringing  meanness" 
which  led  him  to  bow  before  the  storm  he  could 
not  resist,  and  afterwards  hated  him  in  the  same 
measure  as  the  latter  succeeded  in  gaining  the 
confidence  arid  affection  of  Dietrich. 


104  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"Where  trackless  wilds  seem  lengthening  as  they  go." 

THE  travellers  had  now  left  Austrian  Poland  far 
behind,  and  entered  the  Russian  division,  where 
the  national  character  is  more  vividly  marked  than 
in  the  former.  For  six  days  after  this,  they  jour- 
neyed over  roads  to  which  it  would  be  difficult  to 
find  a  parallel,  perhaps,  in  the  world.  Deep  ruts 
and  deep  holes  alternated  with  fallen  trees  and 
broken  branches  lying  across  the  way — through 
forests  where  the  land-marks  were  difficult  to  be 
ascertained,  and  over  bridges  of  the  rudest  con- 
struction and  doubtful  stability.  Their  horse, 
which  had  held  up  wonderfully  for  the  first  few 
days,  now  began  to  exhibit  symptoms  of  fatigue. 
Both  boys  became  anxious  to  know  where  their 
journey  was  to  end,  looking  inquiringly  as  they 
passed  the  villages  which  their  conductor  no  longer 
avoided,  in  hopes  that  each  one  would  prove  the 
home,  and  provide  the  rest  of  which  they  now  were 
greatly  in  need.  To  the  few  questions  which  Felix 
thought  proper  to  address  to  Dietrich  on  this  head, 
he  would  only  answer,  "you  will  get  there  soon 
enough ;"  but  it  was  not  until  the  evening  of  the 
sixth  day  after  entering  Russian  Poland  had  long 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     105 

closed  in,  and  their  wearied  horse  had  more  than 
once  fallen,  that  they  reached  a  sort  of  hamlet 
which  Dietrich  told  them  was  to  be  the  limit  of 
their  travel. 

It  consisted  of  a  few  miserable  hovels,  seemingly 
inhabited  by  the  lowest  class  of  peasants,  from 
whose  stolid  indifference  and  unsocial  selfishness, 
as  painted  in  their  looks,  no  sympathy  was  to  be 
expected  ;  the  hard,  coarse  life  to  which  they  were 
subjected,  successfully  crushing  every  natural  or 
gentler  emotion.  Desirable  as  a  place  of  rest  was, 
neither  fatigue,  nor  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  could 
scarcely  make  this  inviting.  Nearly  surrounded 
by  a  forest,  it  appeared  better  fitted  to  furnish 
lairs  to  the  denizens  of  the  wood,  rather  than 
homes  for  creatures  bearing  the  semblance  of  hu- 
manity, of  which  those  who  came  forth  on  hearing 
the  sound  of  wheels,  could  scarcely  be  said  to  do. 
Clothed  in  dresses  of  untanned  sheep-skins,  with 
high  caps  of  the  same  material,  their  faces  nearly 
hidden  by  beard  and  moustache,  and  squalid  to  the 
last  degree,  their  figures  struck  not  less  painfully 
on  the  eye,  than  they  excited  repugnance  and 
terror  in  the  mind.  Eugene  shrank  back  in  horror 
which  he  cared  not  to  disguise,  and  Felix  would 
scarcely  have  been  able  to  exercise  the  portion  of 
self-command  he  had  so  lately  acquired,  had  not 
Dietrich  spoken  a  few  words  of  kindness  to  him, 
assuring  him  that  both  were  safe  from  anything 


106  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

like  lawless  violence,  while  in  a  rough  tone  he  bade 
his  companion  to  dismount,  for  that  "he  had  now 
come  to  the  place  where  spoiled  boys  were  taught 
manners,  and  how  to  feel." 

They  entered  one  of  the  largest  dwellings,  which 
was  the  pot-house  of  the  rude  community.  Several 
men  sat  drinking  at  a  table,  nearly  hidden  in  a 
cloud  of  tobacco-smoke,  conversing  together  in  a 
lang-uage  which  the  boys  had  never  heard,  and 
whose  barbarous  sounds  served  to  increase  the  im- 
pression already  made.  Here,  then,  in  this  filthy 
tap-room,  was  the  first  meal  consisting  of  warm 
viands,  served  to  our  young  friends  since  they  had 
left  Steinrode ;  and  although  they  witnessed  its 
preparation,  and  noticed  the  condition  of  the 
utensils  used  in  its  cooking  —  all  being  of  such  a 
kind  as  rather  to  destroy  than  create  an  appetite 
—  it  was  devoured  greedily. 

They  approached  the  table  where  the  peasants 
sat,  in  hopes  of  being  able  to  understand  something 
that  would  give  them  some  idea  of  where  they 
were,  or  their  condition,  but  not  one  word  was 
intelligible ;  and  their  consternation  may  be  better 
imagined  than  told,  when  to  all  their  questions  the 
only  answer  received  was  that  significant  shake  of 
the  head  which  says,  "I  do  not  understand."  And 
it  was  so  —  not  one  in  this  place  spoke  or  under- 
stood a  word  of  German ;  and  to  increase  the 
uncomfortable  feeling  caused  by  this  discovery, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  107 

Dietrich  laughed  maliciously  when  Eugene  ex» 
pressed  his  sense  of  hopelessness  by  a  flood  of 
tears. 

In  this  filthy  abode,  reeking  ever  with  the  fumes 
of  Russian  brandy  and  bad  tobacco,  the  boys  had 
to  remain  many  days;  while  Dietrich,  who  was 
seeking  employment,  and  often  obliged  to  be 
absent,  gave  them  many  charges  as  to  what  spots 
to  limit  their  wanderings  whilst  he  was  abroad  ; 
more  on  account  of  dangers  which  might  arise  to 
themselves  from  going  too  far,  than  anv  desire  to 

v 

restrain.  The  liberty  which  they  now  enjoyed, 
therefore,  availed  them  little;  any  attempt  to  move 
the  stolid  beings  by  whom  they  were  surrounded, 
•was  met  by  a  cold  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  or  a 
scornful  laugh ;  and  at  last  threats,  although  not 
expressed  in  words,  yet  too  plainly  in  movements 
to  be  mistaken,  forced  even  the  haughty  Eugene 
to  perceive  that  silent  forbearance  was  not  only 
the  safest,  but  the  only  course. 

Sons  of  an  oppressed  race,  abhorring  that  sys- 
tem of  serfdom  so  adverse  to  man's  nature,  they 
all  so  hated  anything  like  nobility,  that  had  they 
really  been  aware  of  the  true  circumstances  by 
which  these  unhappy  boys  had  appeared  among 
them,  their  hearts  would  still  have  been  closed  to 
the  calls  of  sympathy  and  justice.  In  their  igno- 
rance, they  could  have  admitted  no  claim  from  the 
one;  in  their  brutal  animosity  to  those  whoso  power 
31 


108  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

they  hated  without  daring  to  resist,  they  were  only 
too  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  of  assisting  tc 
humble  those  who  might,  from  their  position,  one 
day  be  expected  to  give  their  voices  in  favor  of 
that  despotism  by  which  they  were  crushed.  From 
Dietrich's  representations,  they  considered  them 
only  as  belonging  to  the  brood  of  the  serpent  that 
poisoned  all  their  earthly  enjoyment;  and  knowing 
but  little  more  than  that  the  nobility,  whom  they 
hated  with  an  unspeakable  hatred,  commanded,  and 
themselves  were  born  to  obey,  it  was  felt  to  be  a 
sort  of  triumph  now,  to  have  some  power  in  their 
own  hands  ;  for  nothing  more  clouded  —  nothing 
more  barren  can  be  imagined,  than  the  minds  of 
the  peasants  born  to  perpetual  slavery  on  the  Rus- 
sian frontiers.  To  be  born  noble,  in  their  estima- 
tion, was  to  be  born  wicked ;  and  the  tale  that 
Dietrich,  who  was  no  stranger  to  them,  had  told 
of  his  own  wrongs,  seemed  to  them  legitimate  cause 
for  his  manner  of  action,  and  served  to  deepen 
their  abhorrence  of  those  who  exercised  dominion 
over  them ;  a  slavery  to  which,  although  imposed 
for  centuries,  they  had  never  become  inured. 

The  boys,  therefore,  turned  away  from  those 
•whose  ferocious  appearance,  and  savage  manners, 
were  in  accordance  with  the  place  they  inhabited ; 
and  they  experienced  sensations  of  relief  when 
Dietrich  took  them  to  a  small  and  miserable  hovel, 
at  some  short  distance  from  the  hamlet :  and  so 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  109 

separated  them  from  all  companionship  with  those 
whose  neighborhood  was  so  unpleasant,  if  not 
unsafe.  Their  housekeeping  affairs  were  easily 
arranged.  Little  was  needed  in  a  place  like  this, 
and  as  soon  as  this  was  regulated,  they  were  told 
to  prepare  themselves  for  settled  and  steady  work. 
Hai'd  indeed  was  the  task  assigned  them  ;  as  Die- 
trich had  got  a  job  at  wood-cutting,  in  the  forest, 
which  kept  him  absent  the  greater  part  of  the  day, 
that  of  the  boys  was  to  prepare  a  piece  of  ground 
belonging  to  the  cottage  for  tillage,  and  they  found 
it  slavish  to  the  last  degree.  Encumbered  with 
stones,  and  overgrown  with  brambles,  all  these  had 
to  be  cleared  off  before  it  could  be  dug ;  which 
their  peasant  master  said  it  must  be,  ere  the  winter 
set  in,  or  else  it  would  produce  nothing  in  the 
coming  year. 

Eugene,  in  spite  of  threats  from  his  captor,  and 
entreaties  from  Felix,  rendered  no  submission ; 
thus  adding  to  the  rigor  of  his  lot.  Sometimes  he 
would  weep  throughout  the  whole  day  over  his  sad 
condition  —  at  others,  he  would  throw  himself  on 
the  ground  in  sullen  despair ;  but  always  refusing 
to  bear  any  part  in  the  labor,  maintaining  that  he 
would  rather  die  than  work  like  a  common  peasant. 
In  vain  Felix  remonstrated  with  him,  he  was  deaf 
to  all  he  could  urge ;  and  the  only  alternative  to 
save  him  from  the  wrath  of  Dietrich,  and  corporeal 
punishment,  was  to  do  a  double  portion  of  the  work 


110  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

himself.  A  severe  fit  of  sickness,  the  consequence 
of  his  own  imprudence,  did  not  improve  Eugene 
either  in  temper  or  otherwise.  Dietrich  did  not 
neglect  him  while  he  was  ill  —  ministering  to  him, 
it  is  true,  in  his  own  manner,  but  still  making  him 
as  comfortable  as  he  could  in  such  a  place,  and 
with  such  means  as  he  possessed ;  but  Eugene 
remained  self-willed  and  unbowed  as  ever.  By  the 
time  he  had  fully  recovered  his  strength,  the  season 
was  far  advanced ;  and  it  became  too  cold  for  one 
so  lately  an  invalid,  to  be  employed  in  out-door 
labor.  It  was  therefore  decided  that  he  was  to 
remain  within  to  do  household  work  —  to  clean  up 
whatever  had  been  used  in  the  preparation  of  their 
food,  make  the  fire,  carry  water  and  wood,  and 
keep  the  house  in  order,  for  Dietrich  was  scrupu- 
lous in  regard  to  cleanliness ;  and  the  performance 
of  these  tasks  were  most  rigidly  enforced,  although, 
to  our  spoiled  boy,  they  were  more  disagreeable 
than  those  which  had  at  first  been  allotted  to  him. 
Their  fare  was  of  the  plainest  kind ;  black  bread, 
cheese — or  when  the  latter  was  scarce,  a  few  eggs 
—  milk,  and  on  Sundays  bacon,  were  the  principal 
articles  found  upon  their  table ;  but  these  were 
eaten  with  a  zest  never  known  by  the  epicure,  for 
they  were  enjoyed  with  appetite,  and  seasoned  by 
the  hunger  produced  by  wholesome  labor. 

Felix,  who  was  never  treated  unkindly  by  his 
rude  master,  but  permitted  to  converse  with  him 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  Ill 

on  all  subjects  as  freely  as  the  peculiar  mood  of  his 
mind  would  allow,  assisted  Eugene  in  his  tasks  as 
far  as  lay  in  his  power,  and  would  have  consoled 
him  if  the  latter  had  consented  to  listen.  So  the 
holy  sympathies  which  occupied  his  own  heart,  for 
as  he  saw  his  master  so  very  unhappy,  the  injustice 
of  which  he  had  been  guilty  in  bringing  himself 
away  from  his  home,  not  being  suffered  to  interfere 
between  selfishness  and  his  knowledge  of  Christian 
duty,  reflected  its  sunlight  back  upon  himself,  and 
illumined  the  gloomy  atmosphere,  that  else  would 
have  thrown  back  its  shadow  on  his  heart,  and 
withered  it  beyond  all  hope  of  saving. 

The  valuable  precepts  taught  in  his  father's 
house,  and  accompanied  with  prayer,  had  not  been 
without  effect ;  and  although,  like  other  boys  of 
his  age,  at  the  time  he  heard  them  uttered,  he 
received  them  only  in  a  general  sense,  and  without 
pondering  on  the  truths  they  contained,  the  holy 
remembrance  now  came  back  upon  him,  consti- 
tuting a  link  —  may  we  say  a  spiritual  link?  — 
between  himself  and  his  far  distant  home :  he  re- 
solved to  act  upon  them,  regarding  them  as  a 
sacred  legacy  from  the  parents  from  whom  he  was 
torn ;  and  so,  while  he  went  and  came  like  a  min- 
istering angel  between  his  two  suffering  compa- 
nions, his  efforts  in  doing  good  prevented  his  own 
life  from  being  one  of  unmitigated  bitterness. 

Dietrich,  whose  heart  daily  grew  softer  as  he 
31* 


112     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

enjoyed  sympathy  to  which  he  had  long  been  a 
stranger,  although  the  one  who  extended  it  was  a 
boy,  and  at  present  his  slave,  gave  him  all  the 
liberty  he  desired.  His  labor  in  the  forest  was  not 
very  severe ;  and  sometimes,  when  he  was  so  for- 
tunate as  to  find  a  swarm  of  wild  bees,  emotions 
buoyant  as  those  that  had  swelled  his  heart  at 
Steinrode,  for  a  moment  would  spring  up,  and 
feelings  of  real  joy,  as  he  secured  his  honied  trea- 
sure, at  the  thoughts  of  the  joyful  surprise  with 
which  Eugene  would  greet  him  on  his  return.  So 
true  is  it  the  elements  of  happiness  are  ever  within 
ourselves !  life  had  its  gleams  of  sunshine  even 
here !  He  seemed  to  know  no  weariness  in  pro- 
moting the  comfort  of  those  with  whom  he  was 
now  forced  to  dwell,  although  there  was  nothing 
congenial  in  either.  He  conciliated  his  rude  master 
by  a  thousand  kind  but  trifling  offices ;  and  while 
he  tried  to  comfort,  took  half  the  labor  off  the 
capricious  Eugene. 

"  Dear  Eugene,"  he  often  said,  "let  us  be  more 
patient  ;  we  know  that  this  great  trial  could  not 
have  befallen  us  unless  permitted  by  our  Heavenly 
Father.  How  often  have  I  heard  my  dear  father 
say,  '  God  never  willingly  afflicts,  but  it  is  always 
to  accomplish  some  wise  purpose ;'  let  us,  therefore, 
submit  to  what  we  cannot  help,  and  pray  that  he 
will  make  a  way  by  which  we  shall  be  restored  to 
our  friends." 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  113 

"I  will  never,  never  obey  that  peasant  thief," 
the  unsubdued  boy  would  answer;  "he  never  shall 
force  me  to  subjection  —  I  will  resist  him  to  the 
utmost ;  for  it  never  shall  be  said  the  son  of  a 
Von  Grosse  bowed  his  neck  to  the  rule  of  a  boor." 

"  You  do  but  lengthen  the  days  of  your  and  my 
own  captivity,  with  such  conduct,"  rejoined  Felix ; 
"  do,  Eugene,  yield  at  least  to  the  will  of  God  in 
this  matter,  since  our  way  is  hedged  upon  every 
side ;  believe  me,  he  will  make  a  way  for  us  to 
escape,  if  we  only  try  to  do  our  duty.  I  do  not 
know  why  Dietrich  brought  us  away  from  our 
home,  and  my  heart  is  as  sad  as  your  own ;  but  he 
is  never  unkind  to  me,  and  if  you  only  would  try 
a  little  to  please  him,  I  feel  almost  certain  he  would 
give  us  our  liberty." 

"  I  never  will  be  so  mean  as  you  are,  Felix," 
cried  Eugene,  giving  way  to  the  haughty  spirit 
that  was  so  peculiarly  his  own ;  "  I  never  could 
stoop  to  conciliate  peasants  and  serfs  as  you  do ; 
and  I  have  often  wondered  how  you,  a  nobleman's 
son,  could  associate  with  such  low  fellows  as  you 
all  did  at  Steinrode  —  there  was  that  Ehrenfried 
for  instance." 

The  angry  blood  mounted  to  the  temples  of 
Felix,  tinging  his  fair  broad  forehead  even  to  the 
roots  of  his  wavy  hair ;  the  impatient  spirit  was 
beginning  to  rise,  and  an  hasty  answer  was  form- 
ing on  his  lips  ;  but  the  still  small  voice  in  his  own 


114  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

heart  repeated  the  admonition  of  his  beloved 
mother  on  the  day  when  he  was  torn  from  her, 
and  the  sacred  recollection  turned  his  anger  into 
sorrow ;  he  turned  away  from  the  ungrateful 
Eugene,  and  burst  into  tears.  All  around  was  in 
accordance  with  his  mournful  feelings  —  the  glim- 
mering brightness  of  that  autumnal  day,  alterna- 
ting with  shades  of  wintry  gloom  —  the  sunbeams 
that  played  through  the  scanty  roofed  covering  of 
the  forest,  or  danced  on  the  faded  and  withered 
herbage  that  strewed  the  earth,  gave  to  nature  an 
unusual  hue  of  gentle  sadness — she  seemed  to  wear 
a  smile  of  languid  beauty,  ominous  of  her  own 
swift-coming  decay. 

There  are  few  minds  so  obtuse  as  not  to  be  sen- 
sible of  the  effects  of  natural  scenes  in  peculiar 
moods  ;  and  the  sad  and  changeful  appearance  of 
this  day  was  well  calculated  to  extend  the  half- 
slumbering  recollections  which  Eugene's  reproach 
had  called  forth ;  and  Felix  most  deeply  felt  the 
sombre  influence.  The  name  of  Ehrenfried  re- 
called the  image  of  his  happy  brother — Steinrode 
was  a  talismanic  word  that  called  up  all  the  bliss- 
ful scenes  of  which  he  had  been  the  partaker  in 
that  spot  which  bore  the  charmed  name  of  home  ; 
but  the  recollection  of  his  mother  brought  with  it 
a  yearning  of  heart  which  admitted  of  no  control ; 
and,  for  the  first  time,  forgetful  or  careless  of 
the  displeasure  of  Dietrich,  he  wandered  away  far 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  115 

into  the  recesses  of  the  forest,  to  find  a  spot  where 
he  might  pour  out  his  feelings  before  the  only  One 
from  whom  he  hoped  to  obtain  relief — even  Him 
before  whose  throne  he  had  been  taught  from  early 
childhood  to  bow.  Here,  where  no  human  eye 
beheld  him,  he  wept  without  restraint  —  he  looked 
up  to  the  fitful  sky,  where  sunshine  and  shade 
were  alternating,  as  if  struggling  for  the  mastery, 
and  implored  the  Great  Father  of  heaven  to  pity 
his  desolation  and,  strengthen  him  to  perform  the 
hard  duties  that  he  was  able  to  perceive  yet  lay 
before  him. 

"  My  mother  !"  he  cried ;  "  0  why  did  I  disobey 
her !  if  I  had  not  forgotten  her  admonition,  if  I 
had  not  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  last  injunction 
of  my  father,  I  should  at  this  moment  be  happy 
with  them  all  at  Steinrode ;  but  bless  them  all, 
Heavenly  Father,  and  bless  me ;  and  let  this  sore 
trial,  which  thou  hast  permitted,  work  the  change 
in  my  impatient  spirit,  which  my  dear  mother's 
precepts,  earnest  as  they  were,  could  not." 

He  rose  from  his  posture  of  supplication,  feeling 
comforted ;  for  there  is  "no  horizon  so  dark  but 
that  humble,  heartfelt  prayer  can  lift  the  veil" 
that  shrouds  it,  and  penetrate  far,  far  beyond. 
The  earth  may  be  dark  and  desolate,  but  hope  in 
God  stands  forth  as  the  pillar  of  fire  to  guide  the 
pilgrim;  and  prayer  avails  to  smooth  the  asperities 
and  disentangle  the  perplexities  of  our  earthly 


116  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

path  •,  and  when  thoughts  become  prayers,  the 
peace  they  bring  passes  "all  understanding." 

Believing  that  the  eye  of  God  rested  upon  him 
here,  even  as  it  did  upon  the  beloved  ones  at  Stein- 
rode,  he  resolved,  though  separated  from  them,  to 
live  as  much  like  them  as  possible ;  and  although 
his  heart  sickened  at  the  thought  that  he  no  more 
might  see  that  beloved  home,  he  determined  to 
rule  his  spirit  as  diligently  as  if  there ;  the  very 
feeling  that  he  was  thus  obeying  the  precepts  of 
his  beloved  and  far-distant  mother,  formed  a  link 
between  him  and  the  absent ;  or  rather  it  was  a 
spiritual  bond  between  them,  which,  though  many 
have  experienced,  is  of  too  subtle  a  nature  to  be 
analysed. 

He  dried  his  tears,  and  returned  to  the  hovel, 
which  he  now  called  his  home,  and  where  he  found 
Dietrich  and  Eugene  in  high  dispute  ;  the  former 
having  overheard  the  conversation  between  himself 
and  the  latter,  although  he  had  not  noticed  it  at 
the  time,  was  ready  to  take  every  advantage  of  the 
knowledge  it  afforded,  to  press  the  discipline 
demanded  by  such  a  refractory  spirit ;  and  as  Felix 
came  forward,  his  whip  was  raised  to  strike,  a  mode 
of  correction  which  he  ever  found  more  effective 
than  his  voice ;  and  though  not  naturally  cruel,  he 
used  without  compunction.  Ere  the  blow,  however, 
had  this  time  fallen,  Felix  caught  the  upraised  arm, 
and  even,  at  the  risk  of  provoking  displeasure, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  117 

which,  although  it  had  never  yet  been  turned 
towards  himself,  he  yet  dreaded,  ventured  to  inter- 
cede for  the  culprit. 

The  soft  tones  of  his  voice  mollified  the  wrath 
of  the  angry  man.  The  whip  was  dropped,  and 
turning  his  stern  eyes  in  which  tears  were  now 
glistening,  he  laid  his  hard  horny  hand  upon  the 
head  of  the  fair  boy  who  pleaded  so  feelingly  for 
another,  and  said,  "Boy,  if  he  had  been  like  you, 
I  should  not  have  been  what  I  now  am ;  he  has 
himself  to  thank.  Yet  he  must  be  taught  to  feel 
by  some  one,  and  he  may  find  a  harder  master  than 
myself  among  those  whom  he  could  not  injure  as 
he  has  done  me.  For  your  sake,  and  yours  only, 
I  will  spare  him." 

Such  scenes  were  of  not  unfrequent  occurrence ; 
and  although  Eugene  abated  not  in  the  slightest 
his  insolent  behaviour  to  Dietrich,  Felix  by  little 
and  little  won  his  love.  He  was  not  ashamed  to 
beg  him,  whom  he  once  loved  to  designate  as  a 
dancing  bear,  to  stand  between  him  and  his  enemy  ; 
and  when  Dietrich  spoke  of  releasing  Felix,  and 
restoring  him  to  his  parents,  of  entreating  him 
with  many  tears  not  to  forsake  him. 

"01  shall  die — I  shall  die  of  grief  if  you  leave 
me  alone  in  this  horrible  place,  and  with  this  unfeel- 
ing man.  I  have  no  one  here,  Felix,  who  cares  for 
me  but  yourself,  and  I  shall  die  if  you  forsake  me." 

Felix  promised  that  the  favor  he  had  won  from 


118  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

Dietrich  should  be  used  to  further  his  interest 
equally  with  his  own — he  would  take  advantage  of 
every  mood  in  which  he  dare  plead  for  the  libera- 
tion of  both  ;  "  but,  dear  Eugene,  you  ought  to  be 
more  patient,  and  try  to  be  more  obedient  and 
yielding  to  the  old  man's  will.  He  would  not  be 
'half  so  hard  if  you  were  not  so  rebellious." 

But  alas !  this  was  all  without  effect.  Eugene, 
trained  up  to  value  himself,  on  acount  of  his  rank, 
more  highly  than  others,  could  not  at  once  learn 
to  submit.  He  had  never  been  taught  to  obey 
even  his  parents  —  no  salutary  restraint  was  ever 
laid  upon  his  actions ;  and  now,  with  all  he  was 
suffering,  he  remained  the  same.  There  are  some 
natures  that  grow  harder  under  the  pressure  of 
affliction,  and  his  was  one  of  that  kind.  No  reli- 
gious teaching,  in  the  years  when  the  plastic  mind 
is  easily  impressed,  had  been  used  to  show  him  that 
man  is  not  made  for  himself  alone.  No  precept, 
from  the  lips  of  a  judicious  mother,  taught  him  to 
look  for  an  all-pervading  spirit  in  the  realms  of 
nature,  or  explain  to  him  that  One,  great,  glorious, 
and  good,  had  come  from  above,  dispensing  life 
and  hope  to  those  who  were  "dead  in  trespasses 
and  in  sin;"  and,  bestowing  the  benefits  he  died  to 
secure,  impartially,  bids  man  welcome  man  as  his 
brother,  and  the  rich  to  acknowledge  brotherhood 
with  the  lowly.  The  training  to  such  thoughts  as 
these,  with  which  pious  mothers  always  endeavor 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  119 

to  fill  the  first  place  in  the  minds  of  their  children, 
had  been  totally  neglected  in  the  education  of  this 
poor  boy ;  and  it  was  scarcely  to  be  expected  that 
the  impression  made  by  years  of  luxurious  ease, 
and  criminal  self-indulgence,  should  be  effaced  by 
the  privations  and  severities  of  a  few  weeks.  A 
sterner  ordeal  than  he  had  yet  undergone  was 
needed.  With  young  Lindenburg,  the  case  was 
different.  The  instruction  received  at  the  time 
before  the  mind  is  distracted  with  the  excitement 
that  belongs  to  maturer  years,  lay  deeply  hidden 
in  his  heart ;  and  now,  in  his  day  of  distress,  the 
sweet  impression  of  the  truths  uttered  by  his  mo- 
ther, so  strongly  associated  with  the  home  he  loved 
to  recall,  appeared  in  their  full  value  in  those 
moments  when,  but  for  them,  no  drop  of  comfort 
would  have  been  mingled  in  his  earthly  cup. 

From  the  day  we  have  tried  to  describe,  when 
the  exercises  of  his  own  and  Eugene's  mind  were 
so  different,  he  was  a  changed  person.  His  excel- 
lent education  had  taught  him  to  entertain  a  high 
sense  of  moral  duty,  which,  from  what  he  had 
learned  of  Christian  conduct,  he  thought  he  had 
practised ;  but  now,  although  he  could  not  have 
described  his  own  views,  he  went  much  further 
than  to  be  contented  with  this.  He  found,  from 
the  struggle  he  had  to  endure  in  the  conquest  of 
his  own  temper,  that  the  Christian's  life  is  one  of 
warfare ;  and  while  his  soul  was  pained  to  bo 
32 


120  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

obliged  to  interfere  in  the  scenes  of  violence  which 
so  often  occurred  between  Dietrich  and  Eugene, 
and  to  witness  the  ungovernable  rage  by  which  the 
latter  at  times  was  swayed,  how  thankful  was  he  to 
have  been  taught  better  things  ! 

He  could  go,  when  his  spirit  was  sad,  to  a  source 
which  is  ever  open  to  the  broken-hearted  —  to  the 
fount  of  mercy ;  where  pure  and  humble  prayer  is 
never  rejected,  and  lean  for  support  upon  the  arm 
that  is  never  shortened  so  that  it  cannot  save.  It 
was  deep  anguish  of  soul  that  led  him  to  pray  — 
anguish  such  as  we  can  scarce  conceive  of  a  child 
enduring,  did  we  not  know  that  such  things  are, 
and  had  we  not  experienced  that  it  is  deep  anguish 
of  soul  which  brings  us  to  the  closest  communion 
with  God.  Those  are  the  seasons,  whether  the 
subject  be  child  or  man,  when  the  Spirit  makes 
intercession  for  us  with  groanings  that  cannot  be 
uttered ;  for  the  Searcher  of  hearts  knoweth  what 
is  the  mind  of  the  Spirit,  and  will  always  answer, 
if  not  to  our  wish,  according  to  our  need. 

Weeks  of  monotonous  sameness  now  passed  over 
them,  varied  only  by  seasons  of  deeper  or  greater 
gloom,  as  hope  alternated  with  despair.  Eugene 
was  by  no  means  improved ;  and  although  Felix 
pleaded  his  cause  most  earnestly  with  Dietrich,  he 
had  not  been  able  to  effect  anything  in  his  favor. 

"He  is  not  in  the  least  humbled,"  was  the  con- 
stant answer:  "and  I  am  determined  to  make  him 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  121 

feel  what  oppression  is ;  when  did  his  heart  know 
pity  for  any  ?  when  did  he  do  aught  to  make  one 
human  being's  suffering  less?" 

"But,  Dietrich,"  Felix  would  urge,  "Eugene  is 
to  be  pitied  more  than  blamed ;  remember  he  never 
was  taught  as  I  have  been,  and  he  cannot  now  in  a 
moment  distinguish  right  from  wrong." 

u  He  has  a  spirit  of  perverseness  entirely  his 
own ;  and  he  shall  go  through  a  school  in  which  it 
shall  be  tamed.  Boy,  urge  me  no  further  on  that 
head,  for  I  am  riot  to  be  moved;  but  for  yourself  I 
am  sincerely  sorry  that  you  have  been  made  to 
suffer ;  and  although  you  are  now  my  only  earthly 
comfort,  still  I  will  restore  you  to  your  home  the 
first  moment  I  can  do  so  with  safety." 

"  But  you  are  not  happy ;  you  surely  would  not 
wear  that  sad  look  if  you  were,"  replied  Felix; 
"  the  vengeance  you  are  exercising  on  that  poor 
boy  has  failed  to  bring  comfort  to  yourself;  would 
it  not  be  better  to  do  as  our  Saviour  has  com- 
manded, '  not  to  avenge  ourselves,  but  give  place  to 
wrath,'  to  love  our  enemies,  and  pray  for  them  that 
injure  us." 

"You  speak  like  one  should,"  said  the  unhappy 
man,  in  nowise  offended  by  the  liberty  taken  by  his 
young  companion,  "  that  has  seen  life  without  any 
of  its  shadows ;  till  lately  you  did  not  know  that  it 
had  any.  But  what  if,  like  me,  you  had  lost  your 
all — had  known  that  those  you  loved  were  turned 


122  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

out  upon  the  wastes  of  the  cold  world  to  suffer, 
whilst  you,  enclosed  within  the  walls  of  a  prison, 
were  prevented  from  doing  what  was  your  duty  — 
to  know  that  the  life  of  your  only  child,  the  star 
of  your  existence,  the  flower — the  only  flower  that 
bloomed  for  you  amid  the  thorns  and  brambles  of 
a  life  of  degradation  and  continued  labor  —  was 
considered,  by  those  who  claimed  my  liberty  as 
their  right,  as  of  less  value  than  that  of  a  dog;  to 
be  denied  the  expression  of  a  grief  so  natural,  and 
without  a  word  of  sympathy,  to  send  money  by  a 
menial  as  if  to  pay  me  for  the  life  of  my  only  child 
— boy,  it  drives  to  madness  yet  to  think  of  it ;  you 
could,  if  you  had  suffered  all  this,  imagine  how 
sweet  revenge  must-  be.  The  bondsman  in  his 
cheerless  life  cannot  forget  the  feelings  of  a  father, 
and  that  he  is  a  man,  any  more  than  he  can  change 
the  vile  laws  that  have  made  him  so,  and  chains 
him  whom  God  has  made  free  to  the  soil." 

"  But  neither  Eugene  nor  his  father  is  to  be 
blamed  for  this,"  said  Felix;  "I  have  often  heard 
my  father  regret  that  things  were  as  they  are,  and 
likewise  say  that  the  laws  of  feudal  tenure  were 
greatly  milder  in  Germany  than  in  other  countries." 

"  I  know  all  that,"  returned  Dietrich;  "but  that 
does  not  make  any  of  them  right ;  no  laws  can  be 
right  which  make  it  just  for  one  man  to  tyrannize 
over  another." 

Felix  was  too  young  to  venture  to  talk  with  one 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  123 

•whose  spirit  was  so  embittered  on  a  subject  of  such 
high  political  interest  as  this,  "  that  cause  betwixt 
the  high  and  the  low — the  few  that  command,  and 
the  many  that  obey;"  but,  boy  as  he  was,  he 
thought  that  if  Dietrich  hated  tyranny  so  thoroughly 
he  ought  not  to  exercise  it  himself  on  one  so  young 
as  Eugene,  who,  although  very  faulty,  was  not  to 
be  blamed  for  the  laws  that  make  one  a  noble  and 
the  other  a  peasant.  In  the  present  mood  of  his 
mind,  however,  he  did  not  consider  it  safe  to  urge 
this  view  of  the  subject ;  but  chose  rather  to  lead 
him  to  the  contemplation  of  another,  and  induce  him 
to  study  the  code  of  laws  laid  down  for  the  good 
of  mankind  in  general,  by  one  who  has  said,  "  my 
kingdom  is  not  of  this  world." 

"  I  know,  Dietrich,  this  is  a  painful  subject,  and 
1  am  too  much  of  a  boy  to  understand  it  thoroughly; 
but  it  is  the  Scriptures  that  tell  us  that  it  is  God 
who  appoints  to  every  man  his  condition  in  life, 
enjoining  upon  those  doing  service  to  do  it  *  as  to 
the  Lord,  and  not  to  men,  knowing  that  whatso- 
ever good  thing  any  man  doeth,  the  same  shall  he 
receive  of  the  Lord,  whether  he  be  bond  or  free.' 
But  if  he  who  was  the  Lord  of  heaven  came  down 
and  took  upon  himself  the  form  of  a  servant,  and 
humbled  himself  for  the  salvation  of  many,  why 
should  we  think  so  much  of  stations  ?  and  if  he 
condescended  to  associate  with  the  unlearned  and 
lowly,  ought  we  not  rather  to  know  from  it  that  he 
32* 


124  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

is  no  respecter  of  persons,  that  the  rich  and  poor 
are  equal  in  his  sight,  and  so  be  contented  with  the 
lot  hs  has  assigned  us." 

Dietrich  made  no  answer,  hut  leaned  his  head 
upon  his  hand,  and  gazed  moodily  into  the  fire ; 
but  a  softening  change  was  visible  in  his  whole 
deportment ;  and  although  Felix  could  make  no 
impression  on  him  in  regard  to  Eugene,  who  seemed 
every  day  to  grow  more  refractory,  he  ceased  to 
correct  him  so  frequently  as  at  first,  and  contented 
himself  with  muttering  something  between  his  teeth 
which  the  boys  could  not  understand ;  and  as  their 
household,  in  consequence  of  this  cessation  from 
violence,  was  more  quiet  than  formerly,  time  sped 
on  rather  more  pleasantly ;  and  Felix,  with  the 
ever  hoping  spirit  of  youth,  looked  forward  to 
better  things. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  125 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"He  that  commits  a  sin  shall  quickly  find 
The  pressing  guilt  lay  heavy  on  his  mind; 
None  quits  himself — his  own  impartial  thought 
Will  chide;  and  conscience  will  record  the  fault." 

AUTUMN  had  long  since  exchanged  her  garb  of 
many  tints  for  one  of  russet  hue ;  and  this  again 
was  thrown  off,  as  if  for  readiness  to  battle  with 
the  fierce  winds  that  swept  from  the  Carpathian 
mountains  over  the  plains,  and  left  the  forest  bare ; 
and  the  trees,  spreading  forth  their  naked  and 
gigantic  branches,  seemed  to  wait  with  impatient 
quietude  the  storms  for  which  they  were  prepared. 
The  moaning  blasts  took  the  place  of  the  sweet 
harmonies  that  had  lately  mingled  there ;  and  cold 
gray  skies  had  long  before  warned  the  feathered 
choristers  that  it  was  time  to  seek  a  warmer  home. 
Heaps  of  fallen  leaves,  or  fir  cones,  swept  together 
by  the  tempests  as  in  rushing  haste  they  passed 
by,  strewed  the  spots  where  wild  flowers  had  lately 
bloomed ;  and  Nature  looked  sad  as  she  prepared 
for  her  long  sleep  in  the  lap  of  winter.  Flakes 
of  snow  began  to  fall;  and  the  boys,  to  whom  the 
approach  of  the  hoary  season,  as  enjoyed  in  their 


126  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

own  country,  had  hitherto  always  brought  antici- 
pations of  delight,  as  they  stood,  wretched  enough, 
looking  out  on  the  dreary  scene,  wept  now  with 
dismay  at  the  thoughts  of  what  new  misery  it 
might  bring  to  themselves,  so  far  from  home  and 
friends,  and  prisoners  in  a  place  so  inclement  and 
inhospitable. 

Their  out-door  occupations  were,  for  the  most 
part,  suspended  ;  but  this  brought  no  relief  from 
the  tedium  of  the  hours  they  were  obliged  to  spend 
in  comparative  idleness ;  books  they  had  none, 
companions  none  —  all  was  desolate  without,  and 
not  less  so  was  that  within.  No  neighboring 
peasants  ever  came  to  the  cottage,  nor  could  they 
have  held  converse  with  any  if  they  had ;  the 
language  was  yet  entirely  unknown  to  them  ;  and 
the  little  they  had  seen  of  them  had  indisposed 
them  for  further  companionship.  Dietrich's  occu- 
pation of  wood-cutting,  too,  was  often  suspended, 
and  he  would  pass  nearly  the  whole  of  the  day  at 
the  pot-house  in  the  village,  a  circumstance  at 
which  Felix  greatly  wondered,  for  he  never  drank 
liquor  of  any  kind,  indulged  in  no  games  of  chance, 
and  held  little  communication  with  any  one.  The 
boys,  consequently,  were  left  much  alone ;  and 
many  were  the  plans  they  thought  over  to  furnish 
amusement  or  occupation  for  themselves  in  the 
coming  winter.  Felix  mourned  over  their  want  of 
books ;  writing  materials  they  had  none,  neither 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  127 

vrere  they  to  be  procured  in  the  neighborhood;  and 
the  knowledge  that  he  was  unable  to  advance  in 
such  studies  as  ought  to  be  learned  at  his  age, 
added  to  the  uncertainty  of  his  situation,  weighed 
heavily  upon  his  heart,  and  filled  it  with  a  deeper 
gloom  than  the  shadow  of  the  unhappy  circuit- 
stances  in  which  he  was  placed  could  have  done, 
had  the  means  of  improvement  been  within  his 
reach.  Eugene  cared  not  much  on  this  account ; 
perhaps  the  tedium  of  the  life  he  now  was  obliged 
to  live  might  have  driven  him  to  read,  had  books 
been  at  his  disposal ;  as  it  was,  he  did  nothing  but 
weep  and  complain,  thus  adding  an  additional 
burthen  to  that  young,  but  faithful,  friend,  who 
concealed  much  of  his  own  feelings  in  order  to 
lighten  those  of  another,  whose  education  and 
moral  training  had  less  qualified  him  to  bear  the 
roughnesses  of  life  than  himself. 

But  the  mind  of  man  is  fertile  in  expedients ; 
and  one  soon  offered  itself  to  that  of  this  good  boy, 
which  should  be  made  subservient  to  the  improve- 
ment and  amusement  of  both.  Mr.  Bulow  had 
often  praised  his  talent  for  drawing,  as  exhibited 
in  his  copies  of  animals  from  books,  or  specimens 
of  Natural  History,  which  was  a  study,  as  in  the 
beginning  of  our  narrative  we  remarked,  to  which 
he  much  inclined.  With  coals  from  half-burnt 
wood  he  made  his  crayons ;  with  flexible  bark 
which  he  stripped  from  the  birch  and  larch  that 


128     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

grew  in  abundance  there,  he  first  divesting  it  of 
the  outer  rind,  flattened  and  made  his  tablets ;  and 
finding  it  to  answer  very  well,  proposed  to  teach 
Eugene  to  draw ;  and,  besides,  from  this  new  dis- 
covery they  need  not  forget  their  writing,  since 
they  could  make  letters  on  this  primitive  substitute 
for  paper  as  well  as  figures. 

Faithful  to  his  own  purpose  to  conciliate  Dietrich, 
he  showed  him  his  invention  and  his  first  work,  an 
act  at  which  Eugene  was  greatly  displeased,  and 
quarrelled  with  him  for  it,  taxing  him  with  hypoc- 
risy and  meanness,  in  cringing,  as  he  termed  it, 
to  "  one  so  greatly  beneath  them,  and  one  whom 
in  his  heart  he  loved  no  better  than  himself  did." 

Unmoved  by  the  reproach,  to  which  he  listened 
with  silence,  he  yet  persisted  in  the  course  his 
heart  told  him  was  right ;  and  the  old  man  was  by 
no  means  displeased ;  for  although  he  never  ex- 
pressed his  approbation  in  words,  he  one  day  pre- 
sented Felix,  greatly  to  his  surprise,  with  a  bundle 
of  neatly  prepared  bark,  and  a  few  sheets  of  coarse 
paper,  which  he  had  taken  great  pains  to  obtain, 
and  not  without  some  expense. 

So  the  winter  came,  and  was  less  dreary  than 
they  had  anticipated ;  and  if  Eugene  had  pursued 
a  proper  course  of  conduct,  it  is  most  likely  spring 
would  have  found  them  on  their  way  to  Germany, 
and  their  home.  Christmas,  indeed,  awoke  sad 
recollections  in  the  hearts  of  both ;  different  as  had 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  129 

been  the  scenes  of  enjoyment  they  had  separately 
partaken  of  the  year  before,  the  renewal  of  that 
festival  time  brought  equal  sadness  to  the  trio. 
Dietrich  was  more  sorrowful  than  usual ;  Felix 
thought  of  all  they  were  then  doing  at  Steinrode, 
and  wondered  if  all  were  going  on  as  formerly  ; 
and  Eugene,  poor  boy,  who  had  no  home  to  think 
of,  was  more  unhappy  than  ever ;  and  being  more 
unhappy,  made  himself  in  the  same  degree  more 
disagreeable.  Felix  did  the  best  of  all ;  the  sweet 
calm  of  peace  that  dwelt  in  his  heart,  the  fruit  of 
his  pious  submission  to  the  trial  dealt  him  by  the 
Unerring  Hand,  had  its  own  reward — he  had  bent 
to  the  storm,  and  was  spared — it  passed  over  and 
left  him  uninjured ;  had  he  resisted  like  Eugene, 
both  would  have  been  lost. 

Dietrich,  the  workings  of  whose  heart  were  only 
known  to  himself,  had  done  his  utmost  to  make 
them  comfortable  on  that  day.  A  fine  fat  fowl 
that  he  had  purchased  somewhere,  graced  their 
rude  table ;  and  some  striezel  kitchen,  which  he 
had  himself  instructed  the  neighboring  peasant- 
woman  how  to  bake  (for  they  were  ignorant  of  the 
preparation  of  this  article  of  German  cookery), 
gave  a  luxurious  appearance  to  their  hitherto  not 
scanty,  but  rough  menage,  and  served  still  further 
to  recall  the  hnppy  scenes  in  which  they  had 
revelled  the  year  before. 

The  winter  passed  slowly.      Dietrich's  absences 


130 


THE  NEIGHBORS  CHILDREN. 


became  long  and  frequent,  and  Eugene  grew  more 
unruly,  and  further  provoked  his  hatred ;  and  so 
time,  as  it  rolled  onward,  brought  no  pleasing 
changes  to  the  dwellers  in  that  secluded  cottage. 
The  seasons  succeeded  to  each  other  in  their  regu- 
lar rotation.  Spring  smiled  in  her  green  robe  — 
the  summer  brought  her  birds  and  flowers — autumn 
his  fruits  —  and  winter  his  snows ;  but  no  friend 
came,  with  cheering  face,  to  comfort  our  boys,  or 
bring  tidings  from  those  their  hearts  yearned  to 
behold.  We  will  not  detail  further  the  routine  of 
miserable  life  dragged  on  by  all  three ;  one  day 
served  as  a  specimen  for  all  the  rest.  Suffice  it  to 
say,  that  more  than  two  years  had  passed  in  the 
manner  we  have  attempted  to  describe,  when  its 
dull  monotony  was  one  day  interrupted  when  Die- 
trich, returning  from  the  ale-house  with  a  sterner 
brow  than  usual,  he  commanded  Eugene  to  get  his 
clothes  together,  and  accompany  him  to  a  village 
some  miles  distant. 

"I  have  hired  you  there  to  a  master,"  said  he, 
"  who  will  teach  you  to  obey.  You  shall  there 
learn  what  it  is  to  work,  and  earn  your  bread  by 
the  sweat  of  your  brow." 

No  words  can  describe  the  consternation  caused 
by  this  announcement  to  both  the  boys,  but  most 
particularly  to  Eugene,  who  regarded  a  separation 
from  Felix  as  his  greatest  possible  misfortune.  He 
had  quarrelled  with  him  —  brow-beaten  him  on  all 


TUE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  131 

occasions — disregarded  all  his  admonitions;  but 
still,  the  steady  patience  with  which  all  his  fretful- 
ness  was  borne,  excited  his  admiration,  and  won 
his  love.  Felix  was  his  all,  his  only  comfort ;  and 
now  he  was  to  be  parted  from  him  on  whom  he 
had  leaned  for  support  in  his  day  of  trial — he  who 
had  so  often  turned  away  the  wrath  of  his  enemy, 
and  who  had  himself  performed  his  allotted  tasks 
when  he  was  too  unable  or  too  indolent  to  attempt 
them.  He  who,  until  lately,  had  known  nothing 
but  to  command  and  be  obeyed,  must  now  go,  and 
go  alone,  to  be  servant  to  a  rude  former,  and  sub- 
mit to  treatment — ah!  he  dared  not  think  like 
what.  0,  how  willingly  would  he  have  remained 
in  that  lowly  hut,  that,  with  Felix  there,  was  a 
palace  in  comparison  with  the  one  anticipated,  and 
even  with  that  dark  old  man,  whom  now  he  did  not 
so  much  fear ;  and  bitterly  now  did  he  regret  his 
own  obstinacy  in  not  having  followed  the  counsels 
of  his  friend. 

He  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  Dietrich,  and 
prayed  that  he  would  not  send  him  away.  He 
embraced  his  enemy's  knees,  and  promised  obe- 
dience and  amendment ;  begged  only  to  be  tried 
one  week  longer,  that  the  sincerity  of  his  intended 
change  might  be  proved.  But  a  deaf  ear  was 
turned  to  all  entreaties  both  from  himself  and 
Felix  ;  the  unpitying  answer  was 

"  Your  reformation  comes  too  late ;  I  told  you 
33 


132  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

lung  ago  what  I  would  do,  and  I  always  keep  iny 
word.  Nor  will  I  break  it  now ;  I  have  promised 
the  farmer  —  the  bargain  is  concluded  —  drawing 
back  is  not  to  be  thought  of  now ;"  and,  as  if 
afraid  that  his  own  stern  purpose  might  be  melted 
by  the  witnessing  of  sorrow  to  which  he  was  by  no 
means  insensible,  he  put  on  a  darker  frown  than 
usual,  and  giving  no  time  to  the  unhappy  compa- 
nions for  leave-taking,  he  took  Eugene  rather 
ungently  by  the  arm,  and  in  a  harsher  voice  than 
he  had  ever  used  to  Felix,  he  commanded  him  not 
to  leave  the  hut  until  his  return.  He  turned  his 
back  upon  its  threshold,  dragging  rather  than 
leading  the  hapless  boy  along  the  path  that  led 
across  the  forest. 

The  day  was  bright  and  lovely  —  the  birds  sung 
in  the  branches  —  and  zephyrs  sighed  through  the 
foliage  ;  but  Felix,  who  remained  behind  according 
to  the  orders  he  never  disobeyed,  had  no  eye  or 
car  for  anything.  How  prone  are  mortals  to 
believe  that  even  in  intense  suffering  there  is  no 
mercy  extended  —  that  in  seasons  of  darkness  no 
ray  of  light  can  be  discovered  !  No  cup  was  ever 
yet  given  to  man  to  drink,  that  drops  of  comfort 
did  not  mitigate  its  bitterness  —  nor  was  he  ever 
yet  shrouded  by  gloom  so  great,  but  that  it  might 
have  been  increased.  So  poor  Felix  experienced ; 
a  few  days  before,  when  his  heart  was  pained  by 
an  altercation  carried  on  more  angrily  than  usual, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  133 

between  Dietrich  and  Eugene,  he  was  tempted  to 
exclaim,  "Can  any  thing  be  worse  than  this?" 
Now  the  alternative  had  come,  and  although  one 
cause  of  painful  disquiet  and  apprehension  was  re- 
moved, the  thoughts  of  the  dreary  solitude  in  which 
he  would  be  left,  but  yet  more  the  uncertainty  of 
Eugene's  lot ;  the  effect,  if  he  should  survive  the 
hardships  certain  to  be  imposed  upon  him,  this 
removal  would  have  upon  his  character,  awoke  the 
tenderest  sympathies  of  his  nature ;  and  the 
bitterest  tears  he  had  shed  since  leaving  Steinrode, 
were  poured  out  there,  as  he  sat  solitary  and  alone. 
Vague  fears,  as  hour  after  hour  passed,  and 
Dietrich  did  not  return,  weighed  upon  the  boy's 
heart,  and  added  new  horrors  to  his  contempla- 
tions. Perhaps  he  never  would  come  back  —  per- 
haps it  was  his  own  duty  to  take  advantage  of  this 
opportunity  to  seek  his  own  freedom,  and  more 
than  once  he  started  up  to  fly  from  the  hated  spot, 
but  the  thought  "whither?"  arrested  the  hasty 
step,  and  stayed  the  imprudent  longing.  How  was 
he  to  make  his  way  through  a  country  of  whose 
localities  he  was  entirely  ignorant,  \vith  whose 
language  he  was  altogether  unacquainted,  without 
means  of  procuring  subsistence  on  so  long  a  jour- 
ney as  lay  between  him  and  his  native  land  ?  He 
might  fall  into  worse  servitude  than  even  the  pre- 
sent ;  and  besides,  he  felt  it  would  be  wrong,  with 
so  slight  a  hope  of  success  as  his  plan  of  escape 


134  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

presented,  to  leave  Eugene  in  a  strange  land,  and 
in  a  place  of  which  neither  knew  the  name.  That 
they  were  in  Poland  he  believed  —  that  the  moun- 
tains he  saw  were  the  Carpathian,  he  imagined — 
but  of  this  there  was  no  certainty;  and  the  mighty 
river,  that  roared  and  rushed  at  no  great  distance 
from  their  dwelling,  might  prove  the  boundary  of 
a  people  more  savage  than  those  among  whom 
they  had  come. 

Tears  exhausted  the  violence  of  his  feelings ; 
prayer  once  more  strengthened  his  courage,  and 
prudence  came  to  his  aid,  and  her  reasoning  voice 
assisted  in  restoring  his  painfully  excited  soul  to 
its  wonted  calm. 

"  There  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "  but  to  try  and  please  Dietrich.  I  will 
try  and  bear  the  increased  ills  of  my  lot  patiently, 
in  hopes  that  I  shall  be  able  to  move  the  heart  of 
that  stern  old  man.  I  trust  I  shall  yet  succeed  in 
obtaining  Eugene's  liberty  and  pardon  from  him. 
0,  my  mother!  my  dear  mother!"  (he  wept  aloud 
as  he  recalled  her  gentle  image,  and  her  last  holy 
kiss),  "  how  often  have  you  told  me  my  impatient 
spirit  must  be  subdued,  ere  I  could  be  either  useful 
or  happy !  I  am  now  in  a  school  of  discipline 
harder  than  you  would  have  desired,  but  perhaps 
not  more  so  than  my  Heavenly  Father  sees  neces- 
sary." 

The  day  began  to  decline ;  and  as  evening  spread 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  135 

her  shadows  over  the  forest,  gusts  of  wind  swept 
through  its  dark  recesses,  and  wailing  among  the 
branches  like  the  voices  of  the  unquiet  spirits  sup- 
posed to  inhabit  those  rude  regions  where  supersti- 
tion rules,  added  to  the  desolation  of  the  boy's 
condition,  as  well  as  increased  the  fears  arising 
from  his  master's  continued  absence.  It  was, 
therefore,  with  a  feeling  of  relief  he  saw,  ere  dark- 
ness quite  obscured  the  view,  his  tall  figure  advanc- 
ing on  the  forest  path ;  and  he  started  up  to  light 
their  miserable  rush  candle,  and  make  some  neces- 
sary preparations,  glad  to  have  his  painful  medita- 
tions broken  by  the  presence  of  any  human  being. 
Dietrich  walked  more  slowly  than  usual ;  and 
Felix  had  time  to  do  all  he  wished  ere  the  former 
reached  his  dwelling.  As  he  stepped  over  the 
threshold  it  was  evident  he  was  pleased  to  find  that 
his  prisoner  had  not  taken  advantage  of  his  long 
absence  to  effect  his  escape ;  but  he  made  no  re- 
mark whatever ;  and  to  such  questions  as  Felix 
dared  to  ask,  he  answered  only  in  monosyllables, 
but  in  tones  more  indicative  of  sadness  than  dis- 
pleasure. The  boy,  therefore,  did  not  venture  to 
mention  the  name  of  Eugene,  nor  to  prefer  the 
request  he  meditated  for  the  liberty  of  both.  Re- 
solved to  humor  the  old  man  in  whatever  mood  he 
might  be,  he  went  on  silently  performing  the  offices 
which  heretofore  had  been  allotted  to  him  who  waa 
no  longer  hero ;  and  having  placed  a  dish  of  warm 
33* 


136 


THE   NEIGHBORS     CHILDREN. 


milk  porridge  on  the  table,  he  called  him  to  supper, 
and  then  seated  himself  sad  and  desponding  in  a 
corner  by  the  fire. 

Dietrich  obeyed  his  bidding ;  he  finished  his 
meal,  and  having  pushed  the  dish  away,  he  leaned 
his  arm  on  the  table,  and  shading  his  brow  with  his 
broad  hand,  sat  gazing  on  the  fair  boy  for  a  long 
time  in  silence,  less  gloomy  than  sorrowful. 

"  He  is  a  pretty  boy  and  a  good,"  he  at  length 
muttered  to  himself;  "I  am  sorry  this  sin  rests 
upon  my  soul.  Tell  me,  child,"  said  he,  raising  his 
voice,  "  what  are  you  thinking  of  at  this  moment ; 
do  you  not  long  to  go  back  to  your  home  and 
parents  ?" 

"To  my  home  and  parents?"  exclaimed  Felix, 
starting  up  and  clasping  his  hands,  while  tears 
streamed  from  his  eyes,  and  sobs  of  emotion  choked 
his  utterance ;  "  Heavenly  Father  grant  it.  I 
think  of  them  always ;  long  for  them  ever,  and 
would  wander  day  and  night  on  foot,  and  over  ways 
the  most  painful,  only  to  see  them  all  once  more." 

"Well  then  you  shall  go,"  said  Dietrich  abruptly, 
and  in  a  voice  not  altogether  firm ;  "  I  will  give 
you  your  freedom  and  the  means  to  travel ;  but 
you  must  first  promise  me  solemnly  —  do  you  hear 
me,  boy  ?" 

But  Felix  understood  only  one  sentence  of  what 
he  had  said.  "  You  shall  go,"  sounded  like  a 
reprieve  from  death  to  a  criminal ;  and  he  repeated 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  137 

it  again  and  again  in  joyful  succession,  without 
thinking  of  any  condition  by  which  the  permission 
was  fettered. 

"  0,  you  will  let  me  go,  you  will  let  me  go,"  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  embraced  the  knees  of  his  captor, 
and  turned  his  blue  eyes,  from  whence  the  tears 
were  pouring,  up  to  look  into  those  whose  fountains 
had  long  been  dry ;  "  may  God  reward  you,  dear 
Dietrich  !  I  will  pray  for  you,  and  so  will  we  all, 
that  you  may  be  as  happy  as  ourselves,  and  no 
longer  so  sorrowful  over  things  that  cannot  now  be 
helped.  But  tell  me,  what  do  you  desire  of  me, 
what  must  I  promise?" 

Dietrich  answered  slowly  and  in  a  low  voice : 
"  That  you  will  never  betray  to  any  man  what  you 
witnessed  at  the  time  you  left  your  home,  nor  what 
has  occurred  since  you  have  lived  here  ;  never  re- 
veal the  name  (if  indeed  you  know  it)  of  this  place  ; 
above  all,  you  must  deny  ever  having  had  any 
knowledge  of  Eugene.  Of  him  you  are  to  know 
nothing :  he  is  only  enduring  a  fate  which  he  has 
but  too  well  deserved.  You  can  tell  your  parents 
you  were  carried  off  by  gipsies,  and  was  obliged 
to  wander  with  them,  until  at  last  you  found  a 
chance  to  run  away.  Will  you  promise  most 
sacredly  to  do  this,  and  as  sacredly  to  keep  your 
word  ?  " 

"Never!"  answered  the  beautiful  boy,  firmly 
but  ssidly,  "  never.  I  will  never  seek  my  home 


138  TUB  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

with  a  lie  on  my  lips ;  for  ray  parents  have  taught 
me  to  abhor  falsehood ;  and  when  my  father  would 
ask  me  where  I  had  been,'  think  you  I  would  try 
to  deceive  him  from  whom  .1  never  yet  had  any 
concealments?  My  Heavenly  Father,"  he  con- 
tinued, folding  his  hands  and  looking  upwards, 
"  now  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  tempted ;  now  I  feel 
what  lures  the  enemy  spreads  to  veil  the  deformity 
of  sin.  But  I  will  keep  Thee  ever  before  mine  eyes 
— thou  shalt  be  as  a  lamp  to  my  path,  that  my  feet 
may  never  stray;  no  —  rather  let  me  die  than  sin 
so  greatly." 

Overcome  by  the  force  of  his  emotion,  he  sobbed 
aloud ;  but  he  soon  grew  calm  —  the  victory  had 
been  obtained  —  the  might  and  strength  of  God 
had  interposed  between  him  and  a  powerful  temp- 
tation to  sin ;  and  now  that  the  tempter  was 
distanced,  he  felt  himself  ready  to  bear  whatever 
might  follow. 

Think  not,  reader,  that  this  picture  of  a  child 
being  able  to  discover  the  "  exceeding  sinfulness 
of  sin,"  is  overdrawn  ;  or  that  a  boy  of  Felix's 
age  could  so  easily  withstand  being  tempted  to  a 
sin  which  many  might  think  venial,  and  for  which 
sophistry  might  find  a  thousand  excuses.  The 
Scriptures  say  to  all,  "  Sin  not ;"  and  the  excellent 
education  he  had  received  —  more  excellent  in  its 
teaching  him  of  Christian  duty  according  to  the 
precepts  of  the  Son  of  God,  who  came  to  teach  us 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     139 

what  to  do  and  what  to  believe,  than  even  in  that 
part  which  was  to  fit  him  for  his  worldly  career  — 
had  given  him  an  segis  of  which  he  did  not  know 
the  power,  or  suspect  the  possession,  until  on  this 
the  day  of  his  trial.  In  the  day  of  his  prosperity 
it  shielded  him  from  the  deceitful  glare  that  dazzled 
Eugene,  and  for  which,  since  that  was  withdrawn, 
he  had  no  substitute ;  and  now,  when  the  tempest 
was  abroad,  and  he  alone  and  exposed  to  its  fury, 
it  was  his  protection  and  his  guide.  Truth,  the 
great  principal  of  Christian  life  and  conduct,  had 
been  placed  in  too  lovely  an  aspect  before  him  for 
him  to  forget  her  now  —  his  duty  was  plain  —  the 
issue  rested  with  God. 

"With  his  stony  eyes  fastened  on  the  boy,  on 
whose  fair  features  the  blush  of  excited  hope  had 
so  lately  glowed,  only  to  fade  into  marble  paleness, 
the  astonished  old  man  gazed  long  and  in  silence, 
as  if  awed  by  the  majesty  of  virtue,  although  ex- 
hibited in  the  form  of  a  child.  At  last  the  old 
man  spoke. 

"  So  then  you  would  rather  remain  in  this  deso- 
late region,  separated  from  your  parents  for  many, 
many  long  years,  which  you  must  do,  since  you 
will  not  promise  to  conceal  what  you  know?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Felix;  "if  I  cannot  go  to 
them  without  the  knowledge  of  a  deliberate  sin  on 
my  soul — without  giving  you  a  promise  that  would 
stain  me  with  falsehood,  and  consequently  with 


140  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

crime.  How  could  I  enjoy  the  purity  of  my  home 
by  going  as  a  liar  among  them  —  could  I  look  my 
own  or  Eugene's  parents  in  the  face,  when  I  knew 
their  only  son,  for  whom  they  pined,  was  enduring 
slavery  in  its  worst  form  ;  when  one  word  from  me 
—  one  word  which  I  dared  not  utter  —  would  re- 
move their  misery  ?  No,  Dietrich,  I  will  not  go  ; 
do  with  me  as  you  please ;  men  may  '  kill  the 
body,'  but  I  fear  it  not,  for  my  trust  is  in  Him  who 
alone  hath  power  to  save  the  soul,  and  who  will 
put  forth  his  arm  to  help  me  when  he  sees  I  have 
profited  enough  by  my  present  sufferings." 

Dietrich  urged  his  measure  no  further,  but  sat 
in  the  same  spot  in  brooding  silence,  and  buried 
his  face  in  both  his  hands,  as  if  ashamed  to  meet 
the  glance  of  a  child  whose  principles,  so  firmly 
based  upon  the  Rock  of  Ages,  so  strong  in  the 
faith  of  heavenly  protection,  led  him  patiently  to 
choose  a  lot  of  wrong  and  oppression,  rather  than 
commit  what  he  believed  a  heinous  sin.  And  now 
as  this  boy,  shielded  in  his  panoply  of  truth,  stood 
before  him,  he  recognized  its  beauty  and  its  power, 
and,  for  the  first  time,  his  conscience  began  to 
accuse  him,  since  his  vengeance  had  been  directed 
to  the  ruin  of  the  family  of  Von  Grosse. 

Dietrich  was  not  ignorant  of  the  holy  truths 
contained  in  the  Word  of  God.  Meditative  and 
thoughtful  by  nature,  while  blessed  with  an  excel- 
lent wife  and  happy  home,  he  had  pondered  much 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  141 

upon  them  ;  but  the  pride  it  might  be,  that  lay  un- 
suspected by  himself,  and  formed  the  root  of  his 
hatred  to  the  nobility,  while  it  rendered  him  dis- 
contented with  his  own  lot,  and  led  him  to  question 
the  existence,  or  at  least  the  justice  of  God,  who 
appoints  to  every  man  his  station,  prevented  his 
deriving  the  comfort  from  such  study  as  would 
have  been  fruit  to  a  more  humble  and  salvation- 
seeking  spirit.  None  could  tell  him  better  than  he 
knew  the  precept  which  teaches,  "  avenge  not 
yourselves,"  nor  of  that  glorious  example  of  One 
who  loved  a  world  that  hated  him,  and  when  re- 
viled, "  even  as  a  lamb  dumb  before  her  shearers, 
so  he  opened  not  his  mouth  to  revile  again."  And 
now  that  conscience,  so  fully  awoke,  had  begun  her 
admonitions,  she  placed  his  every  action  in  the 
most  glaring  and  frightful  review  before  him,  since 
the  hour  in  which  he  had  sworn  revenge  against 
his  thoughtless  enemy  —  laid  his  house  in  ashes, 
robbed  him  of  his  only  son,  and  condemned  him, 
while  yet  a  child,  to  bondage  and  poverty,  from 
which  there  was  little  chance  he  would  be  rescued ; 
and  as  though  the  enemy  of  souls  had  resolved  to 
heap  more  crimes  upon  his  soul  than  his  vengeance 
contemplated,  he  had  injured  a  family  who  pitied 
and  would  have  relieved  his  misfortunes,  involving 
a  darling  son  in  the  reckless  ruin  prepared  for  an 
enemy,  without  compunction. 

We  can  say  but  little  in  this  case  of  Dietrich,  as 


142  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

to  the  extent  or  acceptance  of  his  repentance ;  he 
had  sinned  deeply,  although  his  wrongs  were  great ; 
and  he  had  repaid  them  with  double  interest ;  and 
we  dare  pass  no  sentence  upon  him  ;  we  only  know 
that  there  is  One  "mighty  to  save"  all  that  come 
to  God  by  him.  No  spiritual  malady  is  so 
desperate  that  He  cannot  cure  it;  no  sin  whose 
stain  is  so  great  that  it  cannot  be  washed  away  in 
the  blood  of  atonement ;  none  so  vile  but  that  the 
shadow  of  the  Cross  can  give  protection  when  some 
dark  spirit  of  the  pit  would  tempt  him  to  despair. 

Many,  many  were  the  thoughts  of  deep  and 
searching  import  that  awoke  in  the  mind  of  the 
unhappy  man ;  but  one  in  particular  which  he 
could  not  lose  sight  of — if  this  boy,  brought  up  in 
Christian  faith,  so  abhorred  all  practice  of  wrong 
and  injustice,  that  he  would  choose  to  live  a  life  of 
poverty,  bondage,  and  privation,  far  from  his  home 
and  parents,  rather  than  break  one  command  of 
the  God  whom  he  professed  to  serve — if,  as  he  said, 
he  could  not  face  those  virtuous  parents  with  a 
stain  of  falsehood  on  his  soul,  how  should  himself, 
when  called  to  the  great  account,  stand  before  the 
awful  Judge  in  whose  hands  he  had  refused  to 
leave  his  cause,  but  chosen  rather  to  sacrifice  his 
all,  even  to  the  hope  of  salvation,  on  the  altar  of 
his  revenge  ? 

He  thought  of  his  humble  and  quiet  wife  —  how 
badly  he  had  cared  for  her  comfort,  and  of  the 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  143 

consequent  hardships  that  had  consigned  her  to  the 
grave — of  his  sweet  smiling  innocent  little  Annie, 
whose  prattle  ever  cheered  him,  and  whose  merry 
laugh  could  drive  away  his  moodiness  —  if  they 
were  angels  in  heaven,  as  his  simple  belief  had 
taught  him  to  suppose,  could  he  hope  to  meet  them 
there  —  what  right  had  one  like  him  in  that  pure 
abode — could  their  purified  spirits  assimilate  with 
his  own,  even  if  admitted  to  that  world  where  no 
tears  are  shed  ? 

His  tortured  soul  now  knew  no  peace  by  day  or 
night ;  and  contrary  to  his  usual  habit  of  sobriety, 
he  tried  to  drown  his  painful  reflections  by  visits 
to  the  village  ale-house,  and  steep  his  senses  in  the 
forgetfulness  caused  by  intoxicating  draughts. 

But  this  course  of  conduct  did  not  succeed. 
Felix  was  as  a.  thorn  in  his  eye,  a  steady  reproof  to 
his  conscience  ;  and  he  could  only  hope  to  find 
peace  by  removing  him  from  his  path.  But  how 
to  accomplish  this  he  could  not  contrive ;  if  the 
boy  returned  to  his  parents  and  told  his  story,  both 
Amade  and  himself  could  be  traced  and  brought  to 
justice;  and  the  indecision  he  was  obliged  to  main- 
tain, as  well  as  the  disquietude  of  his  own  mind, 
soured  his  temper  to  a  greater  degree  than  hereto- 
fore ;  and  his  capricious  bearing  now  rendered  the 
lot  of  the  poor  boy  nearly  unbearable. 

Yet  steady  to  himself,  and  faithful  to  the  rules 
laid  down  for  his  own  practice,  he  bore  all  the 
34 


144  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

hard  requisitions  demanded  by  his  master  without 
murmuring. 

If  he  was  sorrowful,  which  truly  was  often  the 
case,  Dietrich  was  angry,  and  abused  him  ;  for  this 
he  considered  a  reproach  against  himself  for  sepa- 
rating him  from  Eugene ;  was  he  merry,  a  mood  in 
which  he  was  now  seldom  found,  then  the  old  tnan 
envied  him  the  peace  produced  by  a  quiet  con- 
science ;  and  he  reproached  him  with  hypocrisy  in 
forcing  spirits,  that  he  might  contrast  his  happiness 
with  his  own  gloom.  This  was  another  hard  trial 
for  Felix ;  but  he  bore  it  manfully  —  he  knew 
patience  was  demanded  of  the  martyr,  and  forbear- 
ance of  the  Christian. 

Months  passed  away,  and  he  heard  nothing  of 
Eugene.  The  spring  once  more  mellowed  into 
summer,  the  summer  into  autumn  ;  the  forest  again 
began  to  wear  its  varied  livery,  when  one  day 
Dietrich  came  home  at  an  earlier  hour  than  usual 
from  his  work  in  the  wood.  In  felling  a  tree  some 
days  before,  he  had  wounded  his  foot  with  an  axe ; 
and  although  urged  by  Felix  to  keep  quiet  and 
give  the  wound  time  to  heal,  strong  ever  in  his  own 
self-will,  he  would  not  listen  to  him ;  but,  binding 
it  up  roughly,  he  continued  to  go  to  work  as  usual. 
Owing  to  this  imprudence,  and  the  heated  state  of 
his  blood,  fever  came  on ;  and  as  he  entered  the 
hut  on  this  afternoon,  he  complained  of  being  very 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  145 

sick ;  and  ere  evening  came  on,  he  was  obliged  to 
take  to  his  bed. 

It  was  now  that  Felix  could  fairly  prove  his 
kindness  to  the  suffering  old  man.  He  was  his 
only  comfort ;  he  sat  at  his  bedside  and  bathed  his 
throbbing  temples;  he  arranged  and  smoothed  his 
rude  pillow ;  he  dressed  his  woundad  foot ;  bore  all 
the  querulous  complaining,  and  all  the  capricious 
demands  exacted  by  his  sick  master  without  im- 
patience, or  a  murmur  for  the  trouble  it  gave  him ; 
so  that  at  length  the  unhappy  being  to  whom  he 
rendered  such  services  declared  his  presence  to  be 
a  true  blessing. 

One  day  when  he  had  suffered  more  pain  than 
usual  from  his  Abounded  foot,  and  Felix  had  pre- 
pared a  cooling  poultice,  as  he  approached  the  bed 
in  order  to  apply  it,  Dietrich  caught  him  by  the 
hand,  and  looking  up  into  his  clear  blue  eyes,  said, 
"  Poor  boy  !  I  have  wronged  you  greatly  ;  and  you 
may  well  be  glad  if  it  should  go  hard  with  me.  I 
cannot  bear  it  much  longer ;  and  then  my  death 
will  leave  you  free  to  go  wherever  you  choose." 

"  Truly,"  answered  the  boy,  and  his  open  and 
ingenuous  countenance  bore  witness  to  the  sincerity 
of  his  heart,  "  I  have  not  once  thought  of  your 
dying,  much  less  wished  it;  and  although  lately 
you  have  been  more  harsh  to  me  then  you  were  at 
first,  and  I  know  not  why  it  is  so,  yet  I  would 
do  any  thing  to  relieve  your  pain ;  if  your  recov- 


146  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

ery  depended  on  my  wishes,  you  would  soon  be 
well." 

"\Vhat,  boy!  can  you  wish  me  to  be  well," 
inquired  the  sick  man,  who  understood  no  feeling 
so  well  as  that  of  the  desire  for  vengeance;  "thou 
dost  not  then  hate  the  rough  and  passionate  old 
man  who  has  m%de  thee  to  shed  so  many,  and  such 
bitter  tears  ?" 

"I  hate  no  one,"  replied  Felix,  innocently; 
"no,  indeed;  but  I  pray  that  God  may  soften  your 
heart,  and  dispose  it  to  pity  and  compassion.  I 
have  read  in  the  Scriptures,  'it  is  an  awful  thing 
to  stand  before  the  living  God  ;'  and  how,  then, 
could  I  wish  for  the  death  of  any  man  ?  If  I  did, 
I  were  no  better  than  a  murderer." 

"Boy,  boy,"  sighed  Dietrich,  "your  words 
pierce  through  my  heart  like  a  sword.  You  do  not 
hate  your  bitterest  enemy,  one  that  has  done  you 
so  much  wrong ;  you  do  not  wish  for  his  death, 
although  by  that  you  should  secure  your  liberty, 
and  regain  your  home  !  There  must  be  truth  in 
the  religion  you  have  learned,  for  it  makes  you 
consistent ;  but  oh  !  what  a  sinner  I  have  been  ! 
Whither  shall  I  go  for  peace?  Where  shall  I 
hope  to  find  grace  and  mercy,  in  this  my  hour  of 
anguish  and  necessity  ?  I,  that  closed  my  ears  to 
the  prayer  of  the  unoffending." 

Deeply  moved  by  the  emotion  of  the  despairing 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     147 

old  man,  Felix  could  scarcely  command  his  own, 
while,  in  faltering  voice,  he  rejoined. 

"  I  remember  many  passages  from  the  Bible 
which  would  comfort  you,  if  you  would  receive 
them,  but  one  just  now  in  particular;  it  is  this  — 
'  If  any  man  sin,  we  have  an  advocate  with  the 
Father,  even  Jesus  Christ  the  righteous,  who  died 
not  only  for  our  sins,  but  the  sins  of  the  whole 
world ;'  and  I  have  often  heard  our  pastor  say, 
'  that  although  our  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  could 
be  made  white  as  snow  through  Him  who  died  to 
procure  salvation  for  all  that  believe  in  Him.'  ' 

He  stopped,  for  his  heart  was  too  full  to  pro- 
ceed ;  Dietrich  folded  his  hands  as  if  in  prayer, 
and  lay  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  perfectly  still. 
The  leaves  of  the  forest  rustled  in  the  autumn 
breeze  —  the  lark  sung  gaily  as  she  mounted  to  the 
heavens  —  the  sun  lightened  the  gloomy  cottage 
with  his  cheerful  rays  —  and  the  impression,  alto- 
gether, made  upon  the  boy's  heart,  recalled  images 
of  home-joys,  and  created  an  unconquerable  long- 
ing to  be  among  his  own,  his  loved  ones  again.  He 
thought  of  his  beautiful  home,  his  parents,  his 
happy  brother,  and  joyous  sisters ;  of  the  first,  as 
looking  on  the  sports  of  the  latter,  as  they  played 
among  the  honeysuckles  and  roses  that  himself 
once  loved  so  well.  Did  they  think  of  him,  on 
whom  one  simple  act  of  disobedience  had  been  so 
severely  visited  ?  Large  and  heavy  drops  filled 
34* 


148     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

his  eyes,  nnd  leaning  his  brow  against  the  little 
casement,  he  wept  softly ;  for  he  feared  to  disturb 
the  meditations  of  the  sick  man.  A  sob,  however, 
which  he  could  not  repress,  aroused  the  latter  from 
his  train  of  deep  thought. 

"  Come  here,  Felix,"  said  he,  in  a  softer  voice 
than  he  had  ever  yet  spoken,  as  he  raised  himself 
up  in  bed;  "come  here;  I  will  do  you  all  the  good 
I  can,  while  time  is  yet  spared  me.  Dry  up  your 
tears ;  you  shall  see  your  home  soon  now.  To- 
morrow morning  you  shall  go  to  the  village  where 
Eugene  is  —  he  too  shall  be  free." 

Felix  was  in  doubt  whether  he  rightly  under- 
stood ;  but  he  remained  silent,  and  Dietrich  pro- 
ceeded. 

"You  must  give  the  money  with  which  I  will 
provide  you,  to  the  farmer  to  whom  I  have  hired 
Eugene ;  he  will  then  be  set  at  liberty,  and  you 
can  both  go  home.  My  hours  are  nearly  num- 
bered, and  I  cannot  go  before  the  great  Judge  of 
all  with  a  crime,  the  enormity  of  which  I  could 
not  see  until  lately,  so  great  upon  my  soul.  God, 
in  thus  opening  my  eyes  to  the  truth,  has  been 
more  merciful  to  me  than  I  deserve.  I  loved  Him 
once,  but  when  my  day  of  trial  came,  I  turned 
away  and  rebelled,  when  I  ought  to  have  sub- 
mitted. Adversity  hardened  my  heart,  and  so  He 
hid  his  face  from  me ;  yet  He  did  not  utterly  for- 
sake me,  sinner  that  I  am.  Wronged  as  I  was,  no 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  149 

thought  of  taking  Eugene's  life  ever  entered  into 
my  soul.  I  wished  but  to  make  those  who  had  no 
pity,  know  what  it  is  to  suffer ;  yet  my  successful 
vengeance  has  brought  me  no  soothing — no  peace. 
No  blessing  could  rest  on  the  means  I  used  to  make 
him  better ;  but  you,  my  good  child,  your  forbear- 
ance, and  simple  teaching  of  the  Scripture  truths 
you  learned  at  home,  softened  my  hard  heart,  and 
changed  my  stern  purpose.  I  bless  the  hour  in 
which  you  came  to  me ;  and  the  time  will  come 
when,  in  spite  of  all  I  have  made  you  suffer,  you 
will  bless  it  too ;  for,  although  an  ignorant  man, 
I  know  the  Scripture  says,  'for  blessed  is  he  that 
turneth  even  one  sinner  from  the  error  of  his 
ways.'  ' 

He  stopped  for  a  moment,  exhausted.  Felix 
was  too  much  moved  to  answer ;  and  after  a  short 
silence,  the  sick  man  proceeded,  as  he  took  a  small 
packet  from  his  bosom. 

"See  here,  boy,  here  is  money;  unjustly  gained 
it  is  true,  but  that  sin  is  not  mine,  and  I  have 
never  spent  one  farthing  of  it  on  myself.  When  I 
set  fire  to  Hausdorff  Castle,  gain  was  not  my 
object ;  I  wanted  nothing  but  revenge.  This 
money  belongs  to  Eugene.  I  exchanged  a  portion 
of  the  jewels  which  Amade  stole,  and  gave  to  me, 
for  it ;  and  I  only  accepted  of  his  offer  to  share 
his  ill-gotten  treasure,  as  it  promised  to  assist  me 
in  the  prosecution  of  my  plan  of  revenge.  Go, 


150  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

then,  to  farmer  Woida  in  the  morning,  and  give 
him  half  of  this  money,  and  he  will  let  Eugene 
free  from  his  bondage ;  then  come  back  to  me,  and 
I  will  direct  you  how  to  proceed,  so  that  in  one 
week  from  this  time,  you  may  both  be  at  home. 
When  you  are  there,  so  happy,  do  not  think  of  me, 
my  boy,  with  hatred ;  long  ere  you  reach  your 
parents,  I  shall  be  standing  before  the  mighty 
Judge." 

Once  more  exhausted,  the  sick  man  fell  back  on 
his  pillow ;  and  ere  Felix  had  time  to  recover  from 
his  grateful  astonishment,  and  thank  him  for  this 
unexpected  bliss,  he  had  fallen  into  slumber,  or 
rather  that  stupor  produced  by  weariness.  Long 
ere  this,  night  had  stolen  over  the  plain,  and 
shaded  the  forest ;  but  the  moon,  unshrouded  even 
by  a  gossamer  cloud,  shone  forth  in  silvery  bright- 
ness, and  came  peering  benevolently  into  the  rude 
cottage  where  death  was  waiting.  All  was  peace 
without  —  all  was  quiet  within  —  save  the  heart  of 
our  poor  boy,  which  beat  wildly  at  the  thoughts  of 
the  joys  the  coming  week  was  to  secure.  He 
looked  upon  the  face  of  the  sleeper  —  it  wore  an 
expression  of  more  calmness  than  he  had  ever  seen 
rest  upon  it  before ;  and  having  never  been  in  the 
presence  of  death,  he  could  not  recognise  its  ap- 
proach. 

He  retired  to  the  pallet  where,  heretofore,  he 
had  found  rest  after  the  fatigues  of  the  day ;  but 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  151 

the  stormy  joy  that  filled  his  whole  being  effectually 
distanced  sleep.  Home,  and  his  family,  seemed 
•within  his  reach  ;  and  he  could  scarcely  wait  until 
the  morning  broke,  so  anxious  was  he  to  share  this 
happiness  with  Eugene.  Midnight  had  long  passed 
by,  ere  he  enjoyed  a  temporary  oblivion ;  but, 
exhausted  by  the  previous  excitement,  his  slumbers 
were  heavy,  and  the  sun  streaming  into  his  humble 
chamber,  showing  the  day  to  be  far  arisen,  was  the 
first  to  disturb  them.  Alarmed  at  his  own  sloth- 
fulness,  he  rose  quickly,  but  without  noise,  fearful 
of  disturbing  the  sick  man,  who  seemed  to  sleep 
calmly ;  but  as  he  approached  the  bed,  the  rigid 
muscles,  and  marble  brow,  showed  the  impress  of  a 
hand  whose  seal  can  never  be  mistaken.  Yet  he 
could  not  believe  it  to  be  death  who  had  come  so 
silently ;  it  might  be  weakness,  or  excess  of  pain. 
He  bathed  the  temples  with  vinegar,  and  rubbed 
the  pulseless  wrist ;  but  the  cold  and  stony  touch 
affrighted  him — he  shrunk  back  in  horror  from  the 
dead.  He  wept,  and  his  tears  only  ceased  when 
he  thought  of  a  new  source  of  anxiety  that  min- 
gled itself  with  his  sorrow  —  he  dreaded  that  as 
soon  as  Dietrich's  death  should  be  known,  some  of 
the  neighboring  villagers,  many  of  them  being  a 
sort  of  dependent  farmers,  might  come  and  claim 
him  as  a  vassal.  The  thought  was  fearful ;  and 
his  nerves,  so  much  excited  by  all  he  had  lately 
passed  through,  the  power  of  reasoning  was  for  a 


1-52  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

time  suspended ;  flight  seemed  the  only  means  left 
to  secure  safety.  Giving  one  last  look  at  the 
corpse  of  one  who  had  wrought  so  much  wrong 
upon  him,  he  left  the  cottage,  after  carefully 
closing  the  door,  and  ran  through  field  and  forest, 
taking  the  same  direction  as  Dietrich  had  done  on 
the  day  when  he  took  Eugene  to  the  farmer. 

He  had  the  money  in  his  pocket,  and  distinctly 
recollected  the  name  of  Woida  as  belonging  to 
Eugene's  master ;  but  that  of  the  farm  or  village 
where  he  lived,  Dietrich  had  not  mentioned,  and 
this  latter  difficulty  troubled  him  not  a  little.  He 
ran  until  nearly  mid-day,  but  nothing  like  a 
farmer's  homestead  presented  itself  to  his  longing 
eyes ;  swamp  and  forest  were  passed  over  in  dreary 
succession,  and  disappointment  began  to  take  the 
place  of  hope.  At  length,  emerging  from  the 
wood,  he  came  upon  a  level  plain,  where  the  signs 
of  civilization  became  more  apparent.  The  col- 
lier's cabin,  and  mud  dwelling  of  the  boor,  gave 
place  to  habitations  of  better  construction  ;  and 
far  towards  the  horizon,  as  seen  in  the  unobstructed 
distance,  smoking  chimneys  betokened  a  village. 
In  a  moment,  all  weariness  was  forgotten ;  joyful 
anticipations  gave  more  strength  to  his  limbs,  the 
intervening  space  was  speedily  passed  over,  and  a 
little  maiden  whom  he  met  at  the  entrance  of  the 
hamlet,  stood  gazing  at  him  in  stupid  astonishment 
as  he  asked  the  question  about  which  he  was  so 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  153 

anxious,  forgetting  that  she  did  not  understand  a 
word  he  said.  The  name  of  farmer  Woida  at 
length  seemed  to  reach  her  stolid  perception,  for 
she  pointed  to  a  homestead  on  the  further  side  of 
the  village,  the  appearance  of  which  was  anything 
but  inviting. 

At  another  time,  our  young  hero  would  not  have 
been  slow  to  mark  the  rude  and  forbidding  features 
of  this  abode  ;  but  now  the  thought  of  liberty  and 
home  threw  its  own  radiance  over  all,  and  lightened 
up  the  dreary  spot;  and  so  dazzling  was  that  hope- 
ful light,  that  its  squalid  and  filthy  aspect  was 
entirely  lost  sight  of.  He  was  sure  to  find  Eugene 
within ;  and  in  the  joyful  anticipation  of  what 
feelings  the  tidings  he  had  to  communicate  would 
bring  to  his  friend,  his  countenance  beaming  with 
an  expression  peculiar  only  to  the  freshness  of 
youth,  he  entered,  without  ceremony,  into  the 
dwelling. 

The  whole  family  was  seated  at  the  supper-table 
—  men  and  women,  the  farmer  and  his  servants, 
without  distinction ;  and  only  raised  their  eyes  in 
a  kind  of  stupid  wonder,  to  see  who  it  was  that 
intruded.  The  next  moment,  they  proceeded  in 
the  demolition  of  gritz  and  bacon,  which  they  made 
to  disappear  with  a  celerity  almost  wonderful, 
considering  that  the  feat  was  effected  by  such 
seemingly  obtuse  beings.  Felix  ran  his  eyes  hastily 
over  the  rude  assembly,  and  the  glow  faded  from 


154  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

bis  cheek,  and  the  light  from  his  eyes,  as  he  per- 
ceived that  Eugene  was  not  among  them.  Not 
altogether  despairing,  although  uneasy,  he  named 
the  names  of  Dietrich  and  Eugene,  and  endeavored 
to  make  himself  understood  by  signs,  pointing  in 
the  direction  of  the  forest  and  its  neighboring 
hamlet. 

The  farmer  stopped  for  half  a  second,  and 
stretched  his  eyes  to  their  utmost  extent,  as  if  the 
boy's  meaning  were  only  addressed  to  his  sense  of 
seeing ;  but  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  carrying  to 
his  mouth  a  spoonful  of  the  mixture  on  which  they 
were  all  feasting,  he  deemed  it  a  matter  of  too 
much  importance  to  be  suspended ;  he  swallowed 
it,  and  returned  with  redoubled  vigor  to  the  dish, 
bestowing  not  the  slightest  attention  on  our  poor 
hero,  who  was  fairly  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed. 

"There  is  one  sign,"  thought  Felix,  "that  all 
men  understand,  and  I  will  speak  to  him  in  lan- 
guage he  cannot  mistake;"  and  drawing  the  purse 
given  him  by  Dietrich  from  his  pocket,  he  laid 
half  of  its  contents  upon  the  table. 

The  countenance  of  the  boor  changed  as  if  by 
magic — the  gold  had  spoken  to  his  heart.  He  cast 
a  longing  look  upon  the  money,  and  spreading 
forth  his  broad  hand,  swept  it  hastily  together, 
and  buried  it  in  his  capacious  pocket ;  at  the  same 
time  speaking  a  few  words  to  one  of  his  servants, 
who,  without  the  slightest  visible  emotion,  rose  in 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  155 

an  instant,  and  approached  the  boy.  Never  doubt- 
ing but  that  the  boor  was  about  to  conduct  him  to 
where  Eugene  was  to  be  found,  his  courage  once 
more  began  to  revive  ;  but  what  was  his  astonish- 
ment to  find  himself  rudely  caught  up  by  a  pair 
of  powerful  arms,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  struggles, 
carried  forth  to  the  court-yard,  and  there  thrown 
out,  with  as  little  ceremony  as  though  he  had  been 
a  bundle  of  straw,  into  the  highway  ;  W7hile  his 
unmoved  conqueror  returned  very  coolly  to  the 
house,  carefully  bolting  the  door  to  prevent  his 
re-entrance. 

Bitter  tears,  less  from  pain  (for  he  was  hurt 
somewhat  by  his  fall)  than  mortification,  flowed 
down  his  cheeks,  but  there  was  no  alternative  but 
submission  ;  since  explanation  would  be  impossible, 
and  remonstrance  in  vain.  The  only  expedient 
that  presented  itself,  was  to  remain  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  this  inhospitable  dwelling  ;  where,  him- 
self unseen,  he  might  be  able  to  get  a  sight  of 
Eugene,  whom  he  thought  likely  was  employed  in 
out-door  work.  "  He  will  surely  return  to  the 
house  at  night-fall,"  said  he  to  himself;  but  the 
day  passed  over,  and  darkness  came  on,  without 
bringing  the  object  he  so  greatly  desired  to  see ; 
and  now,  with  spirits  much  abated,  he  was  obliged 
to  yield  to  the  claims  of  hunger  and  weariness, 
and  betake  himself  to  the  ale-house  in  the  village 
we  have  before  mentioned  as  being  in  the  neigh- 
So 


15C  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

borhood.  He  had  no  great  difficulty  in  making 
the  host  understand  what  he  wanted.  He  knew 
the  names  of  bread  and  cheese  in  the  Polish  lan- 
guage, and  showed  them  by  signs  that  he  wanted 
lodging.  All  was  readily  supplied ;  and  having 
eaten  heartily  of  the  primitive  fare  they  provided, 
he  laid  himself  down  on  his  hard  pallet,  and,  worn 
out  with  excitement  as  well  as  the  vigil  of  the  pre- 
ceding night,  his  sad  and  boding  thoughts  were 
soon  lost  in  the  benevolent  oblivion  of  sleep. 

The  morning,  however,  awoke  him  to  renewed 
care  and  anxiety.  He  resorted  once  more  to  the 
spot  from  whence,  on  the  preceding  day,  he  had 
watched  the  movements  at  the  farm-house ;  but 
after  the  second  day  had  passed,  and  he  saw  one 
after  another  of  the  peasants  go  forth  to  their 
field-work,  and  return  in  the  same  manner  at  meal 
time,  and  no  one  at  all  resembling  Eugene  among 
them,  his  hope  failed  him  altogether,  and  he  felt 
himself  fairly  in  a  dilemma. 

Poor  Felix  !  what  was  he  to  do  now  ?  Dare  he 
begin  his  journey  homeward,  and  leave  Eugene  in 
servitude,  maintaining  himself  by  the  way  on  the 
money  which  belonged  to  his  friend,  and  which  he 
still  retained  ?  "  No  !  I  cannot  do  it,  it  would  be 
wrong;"  and  so  he  resolved  to  wait  a  few  days 
longer,  in  which  he  would  seek  him  more  carefully 
throughout  the  neighborhood  ;  for  he  could  not  go 


THE    NEIGHBORS1    CHILDREN.  157 

until  at  least  every  avenue  of  hope  as  to  finding 
him  should  be  closed. 

Sadder  than  ever,  he  returned  to  the  inn,  where 
he  found  assembled  a  greater  number  of  people 
than  usual :  for  it  was  the  time  of  holding  annual 
court  in  that  district,  and  the  magistrate  of  the 
village  made  one  of  the  party  on  this  evening. 

Most  of  the  persons  present  were  peasants, 
wearing  upon  their  physiognomy  those  peculiar 
features  which  are  supposed  to  be  the  impress  of 
slavery,  as  marked  by  an  extreme  depression,  or 
an  apathy  bordering  on  stolidity,  such  as  our  hero 
remarked  in  the  household  of  farmer  Woida,  and 
which  even  the  brandy,  as  it  circulated  freely,  was 
not  sufficiently  potent  to  alter ;  and  so  our  poor 
Felix  entered  almost  unobserved,  and  sat  down  in 
a  quiet  corner  of  the  smoky  room  unquestioned 
save  by  one. 

That  one  was  the  village  justice,  who,  being 
possessed  of  more  intelligence,  and  a  man  of  more 
observation  than  most  of  those  among  whom  he 
lived,  saw,  notwithstanding  the  rude  garb  in  which 
the  boy  was  clothed,  that  he  differed  from  the 
peasant  herd  whom  he  met  with  daily ;  and  wonder- 
ing what  business  had  brought  him  to  this  ale-house, 
began  to  question  him  in  Polish.  Finding  he  could 
not  understand  him,  he  next  enquired  his  name, 
and  what  his  business  was,  in  German ;  which 
language,  although  he  spoke  it  badly,  fell  like 


158  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

magic  on  our  hero's  ears ;  and  seeming  like  sounds 
from  home,  at  once  awoke  his  boyish  confidence. 

Believing  he  had  met  a  friend  in  one  who  could 
understand  the  speech  of  his  country,  he  told  his 
interrogator  all  he  desired  to  know,  that  he  was 
seeking  his  friend,  who  was  in  the  service  of  farmer 
Woida ;  that  he  had  given  the  latter  twenty  gold 
pieces  as  compensation  for  his  companion's  liberty, 
but  that  the  money  had  been  pocketed,  without  re- 
leasing the  boy. 

The  justice,  whose  name  was  Petrowsky,  gazed 
on  our  young  friend  as  he  was  speaking,  and  his 
glance  was  indicative  of  suspicion  only  ;  he  could 
not  read  the  lines  of  candor  and  truth  on  that 
fair  brow  —  alas  !  he  knew  too  much  of  human 
nature ;  was  too  well  versed  in  the  tortuous  ways 
of  men,  to  give  much  credit  to  any  tale  ;  knavery 
and  double-dealing  were  so  constantly  brought 
before  his  notice,  that  he  lived  in  constant  distrust 
of  all ;  and  believing  that  if  one  man  was  less 
overreaching  than  his  fellow,  it  was  for  want  of 
opportunity  or  acumen. 

"That  was  a  large  sum,"  said  he,  after  a  pause, 
"  for  a  boy  like  you  to  have ;  where  did  you  get 
the  money  you  say  you  gave  the  farmer  ?  " 

"  Dietrich  gave  it  to  me  ;  he  had  hired  Eugene 
to  farmer  Woida,  and  this  money  was  to  buy  him 
back,"  was  the  answer  of  Felix. 

"  If  Dietrich  made  the  bargain,  why  did  he  not 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDRENT.  159 

go  himself,  and  release  the  boy  from  servitude  ?  " 
asked  the  magistrate. 

"  Alas !  he  could  not,  he  is  dead,"  said  Felix ; 
"  he  was  unable  to  walk  for  some  time,  from  a  cut 
he  had  received  on  his  foot,  and  then  took  a  fever, 
of  which  he  died.  The  morning  after  he  gave 
me  the  money,  I  found  him  dead  in  his  bed.  0, 
dear  sir,  Eugene  is  a  nobleman's  son,  and  if  you 
will  only  tell  me  how  I  may  find  him,  as  soon  as 
we  get  home,  you  shall  be  well  rewarded." 

"So  then  you  do  not  know,"  replied  the  person 
addressed,  "  that  the  young  knave  ran  away  from 
his  master  a  week  ago  ?  He  could  have  been  no 
great  loss,  methinks,  since  there  was  neither  search 
nor  inquiry  made  for  him." 

A  thrill  of  horror  passed  over  the  heart  of  Felix 
at  this  intelligence.  "Poor  boy,"  said  he.  sadly, 
"  what  will  become  of  him,  a  fugitive  in  a  strange 
land ;  and  how  can  I  hope  to  find  him,  ignorant 
as  I  am  of  the  language.  The  best  I  can  do  is 
to  go  home  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  tell  his 
parents  what  has  happened.  His  father  will  find 
means  to  have  him  sought  out  and  restored." 

"  Stop,  my  boy  !  not  quite  so  fast,  if  you  please," 
rejoined  the  justice  ;  "  you  say  Dietrich  died  quite 
suddenly;  and  it  sounds  very  strange  that  Dietrich 
should  give  a  boy  of  your  years  such  a  sum.  The 
old  knave  did  not  look  like  one  disposed  to  be 
very  liberal  ;  and  as  I  saw  him  for  the  last  few 
35* 


160  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

months,  more  likely  to  spend  it  in  draughts  of 
brandy,  than  give  it  away.  No,  no,  I  cannot 
believe  the  half  of  this." 

The  anxiety  of  Felix  now  arose  to  the  highest 
pitch ;  he  foresaw  the  delay  the  magistrate's  sus- 
picion was  likely  to  produce ;  and  he  resolved  to 
tell  him  candidly  the  whole  history  of  what  had 
befallen  both  Eugene  and  himself;  but  this  did 
not  make  things  any  better.  Owing  to  his  audi- 
tor's imperfect  knowledge  of  the  German  language, 
more  than  one  half  of  what  he  said  was  not  under- 
stood ;  and  instead  of  lessening,  only  served  to 
increase  his  already  aroused  suspicions ;  for  the 
circumstances  seemed  too  improbable  to  be  believed. 

"  The  thing  must  be  looked  into,"  said  he ; 
"when  I  go  to  the  capital  I  will  speak  to  the 
justice  Amtmann  about  it.  In  the  meantime,  you 
must  remain  here  in  this  neighborhood ;  and  until 
the  affair  is  settled,  I  will  take  you  home  with  me, 
and  find  work  for  you  on  my  farm.  You  may 
thank  your  stars  you  have  found  such  a  good 
place ;  for  if  you  had  told  the  tale  I  have  been  lis- 
tening to  to  any  other,  it  is  most  likely  you  would 
have  been  sent  to  prison ;  as  it  is,  I  have  my  own 
suspicions  that,  although  very  young,  your  are  a 
crafty  knave ;  and  have  either  stolen  the  money 
from  the  old  man,  or  helped  him  to  his  sudden 
death!" 

A  sudden  chill  swept  over  the  heart  of  the  poor 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  161 

boy  as  he  listened  to  this  speech,  and  for  a  moment 
suspended  the  faculties  of  the  living  being.  But 
the  vrarm  tide  again  flowed  forth,  and  he  was  able 
once  more  to  think.  In  the  most  earnest  and 
touching  manner  he  besought  the  man,  who  from 
his  calling  ought  to  be  just,  to  let  him  return 
to  his  parents,  who,  he  was  certain,  mourned  him 
as  dead ;  and  protested  his  innocence  with  an 
earnestness  that  would  have  weakened,  if  not  re- 
moved, the  suspicion  of  any  one  who  was  not  pre- 
determined to  condemn. 

His  prayers  were  addressed  to  a  deaf  ear.  The 
justice  demanded  the  rest  of  the  gold ;  and  having 
buried  it  safely  in  his  waistcoat-pocket,  he  set  out 
for  his  home,  taking  our  young  hero  with  him. 

The  boy  followed  his  new  and  self-constituted 
master  without  uttering  a  word ;  but  an  overwhelm- 
ing sense  of  isolation  and  strangeness  took  posses- 
sion of  his  whole  soul ;  and  the  feeling  of  desola- 
tion was  by  no  means  diminished  on  entering  the 
long  low  chamber  where  the  farm  servants,  of 
whom  he  was  now  to  be  considered  one,  were  seated 
around  a  huge  stove.  They  were  not  the  only 
occupants  of  the  filthy  room ;  a  number  of  chick- 
ens, who  were  roosting  on  some  crossbeams  above 
the  fireplace,  gave  audible  tokens  of  their  vicinity, 
as  well  as  testified  their  displeasure  at  the  interrup- 
tion caused  by  the  entrance  of  strangers.  A  long 
table  much  cut  and  hacked,  surrounded  with  cor- 


162  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

responding  benches,  was  the  only  furniture ;  arid 
as  our  poor  Felix  gazed  upon  the  faces  of  those 
who  were  seated  or  stretched  upon  the  latter,  he 
felt  that  neither  sympathy  nor  assistance  was  to 
be  expected.  A  dogged  sullenncss  was  the  pre- 
vailing expression,  with  which  a  slight  shade  of 
scorn  mingled  itself,  as  they  half  raised  themselves 
to  look  at  the  new  comer,  who  was  introduced  to 
their  companionship  as  "a  knavish  young  German." 

His  courage  was  entirely  subdued  by  this  new 
misfortune ;  so  near  the  long-desired  end  of  all 
his  wishes — already  on  the  first  steps  of  the  jour- 
ney which  led  to  his  home  —  and  now  all  this  hin- 
drance effected  by  the  impatience  of  Eugene,  with 
whom,  but  for  his  flight,  he  might  have  been  many 
miles  on  his  way.  But  complaints  and  reflections 
were  alike  useless ;  he  knew  the  want  of  patience 
to  be  his  own  besetting  sin ;  and  as  he  had  set  him- 
self fairly  at  work  to  overcome  it,  he  determined 
firmly  to  adhere  to  his  purpose,  although  it  was 
with  a  far  less  buoyant  spirit  than  heretofore. 

His  duties  in  this  his  new  home  were  by  no  means 
light ;  being  the  youngest,  and  not  a  native,  much 
more  labor  was  heaped  upon  him  in  consequence. 
He  had  to  be  up  first  in  the  morning,  to  do  such  work 
as  the  others  did  not  like  to  do ;  to  help  in  the 
barn  throughout  the  day,  and  in  the  evening  to 
take  the  horses  that  had  been  used  in  ploughing  to 
the  meadows,  and  there  remain  himself  for  moro 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  163 

than  half  the  night  on  the  damp  dull  flats,  from 
whose  unhedged  boundaries  he  was  to  prevent  the 
fettered  animals  from  straying. 

Greatly  as  he  suffered,  as  the  season  advanced, 
under  these  increasing  hardships,  it  was  yet  all  as 
nothing  in  comparison  with  the  pangs  of  disap- 
pointed hope.  His  heart  grew  sick  as  day  after 
day  passed  over  without  tidings  from  Eugene,  or 
prospect  of  deliverance  from  the  wretchedness  to 
which  he  was  a  prey.  Sadly,  and  in  silence,  he 
crept  about,  scrupulously  performing  the  tasks 
required  of  him  ;  but  buoyancy  no  longer  marked 
his  step,  neither  did  light  kindle  in  his  eye.  Hun- 
ger and  weariness  he  had  learned  to  bear ;  but  the 
unnatural  pressure  on  the  youthful  spirit  was 
beginning  painfully  to  tell.  His  food  was  of  the 
coarsest  kind,  and  so  small  in  quantity,  that  it 
scarcely  served  to  nourish  the  overtasked  frame ; 
yet  he  was  satisfied  with  it.  The  one  all-absorbing 
subject  of  regret,  and  longing  to  be  with  his 
parents,  swallowed  up  every  minor  consideration, 
and  made  him  altogether  insensible  of  the  failure 
of  his  health ;  and  having  coupled  some  of  the 
horses,  and  fettered  others,  he  would  leave  them 
to  graze  on  such  herbage  as  they  could  find ;  and, 
lying  down  on  the  ground,  would  bury  his  weeping 
face  in  the  fading  grass,  and  wish  to  die. 

The  rude  beings  by  whom  he  was  surrounded, 
in  whose  hearts  call  sympathy  had  been  crushed  by 


164  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

the  pressure  of  their  own  bondage,  and  taught  to 
believe  him  a  criminal  of  the  worst  kind,  and  only 
screened  from  justice  by  their  master's  compassion, 
extended  to  him  on  account  of  his  extreme  youth, 
noticed  not  his  faded  and  dejected  appearance;  but 
as  though  they  considered  it  an  imperative  duty, 
they  aggravated  his  already  scarce  bearable  bur- 
den, by  their  rude  and  unfeeling  behavior,  and 
adding  new  hardships  whenever  they  could.  The 
principle  from  which  such  conduct  was  prompted, 
gave  him  more  pain  than  the  acts  from  which  he 
suffered.  It  was  his  nature  to  be  kind  and  friendly 
to  all,  and  his  education  had  taught  him  the  true 
courtesy  of  being  affable  to  every  one ;  and  his 
loving  spirit  could  scarcely  brook  the  repulses  he 
received  from  the  stupid  boors,  whom  he  vainly 
tried  to  conciliate.  But,  as  we  have  before  re- 
marked, no  life  is  altogether  dark  —  no  condition 
altogether  joyless.  The  smile  of  woman  has 
cheered  the  most  dreary  waste  —  the  prattle  of  a 
child  has  poured  out  comfort  to  many  a  slave:  and 
so  it  was  in  this  case.  One  flower  bloomed  in  this 
wilderness ;  and  like  a  fountain  of  sweet  waters  in 
the  desert,  of  which  the  traveller  drinks  that  he 
may  not  die,  so  was  this  slight  treasure  hailed  as  a 
sacred  gift  from  heaven,  inasmuch  as  it  recalled 
the  failing  spirit  from  the  verge  of  despair. 

As    he   turned    away,  one  day,  more  disgusted 
than  usual  at  the    surly  demeanor  of  those  with 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  165 

whom  he  was  obliged  to  herd,  his  eye  fell  on  a 
little  girl  of  perhaps  eight  years  old  ;  whom  his 
master,  as  he  stood  giving  directions,  held  by  the 
hand.  Her  large  blue  eyes  beamed  forth  smilingly 
from  among  her  fair  silken  curls,  and  the  sweet 
angelic  expression  of  her  face,  involuntarily  brought 
back  the  image  of  his  dear  little  sister  Pauline ; 
and  the  imaginary  likeness  invested  the  little  Polish 
maiden  with  an  almost  supernatural  beauty,  in  his 
eyes,  at  the  moment. 

Mareska.  for  that  was  her  name,  was  his  mas- 
ter's youngest  and  most  favorite  child ;  and  as  she 
stood  beside  her  stern  father,  it  was  hard  to  ima- 
gine that  such  near  relationship  could  exist  between 
beings  so  different  in  appearance.  She  was  allowed 
unlimited  indulgence ;  and  so,  taking  advantage 
of  her  liberty  of  roaming  where  she  pleased,  in  a 
few  hours  afterwards  she  was  seen  bounding  over 
the  meadow  where  Felix  watched  his  grazing 
charge.  These  visits  from  the  little  wild  bird, 
from  this  time,  became  more  frequent,  and  were 
productive  of  happiness  to  both.  To  him,  she 
came  like  a  gleam  of  light  from  another  world, 
and  rekindled  the  almost  extinguished  spark  of 
hope.  Through  her  influence  with  her  father,  who 
never  denied  her  anything,  might  he  not  obtain  the 
liberty  for  which  he  pined  ?  But,  independent  of 
these  selfish  considerations,  her  presence  was  a  real 
blessing :  and  instead  of  weeping  away  the  hours^ 


166  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

as  he  used  to  do  when  sent  to  the  meadows  with 
the  horses,  he  found  pastime  in  making  little  wind- 
mills, boats,  and  other  playthings,  out  of  wood,  for 
her,  and  was  fully  repaid  for  his  trouble  by  her 
expressions  of  wonder  and  delight.  Her  winning 
ways,  her  kind  and  gentle  disposition,  and  the 
gratitude  with  which  she  received  these  expressions 
of  his  friendly  feeling  towards  her,  rescued  life 
from  that  deadness  into  which  it  had  been  chilled 
by  the  want  of  sympathy,  and  prevented  utter 
stagnation. 

His  master  had  at  first  amused  him  with  pro- 
mises of  inquiring  after  Eugene,  and  sending 
letters  in  his  behalf  to  Steinrode :  but  as,  in  the 
first  place,  he  did  not  half  believe  his  story ;  and 
in  the  second,  when  he  found  how  easily  his  de- 
mands were  satisfied,  and  how  diligent  and  faithful 
he  was  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty,  he  resolved  to 
keep  him  as  his  servant ;  and  therefore  never 
wrote,  as  he  had  promised,  to  a  friend  he  said  he 
had  in  Silesia. 

In  order  to  lighten  the  burden  of  his  servitude, 
Felix  had  taken  some  pains  to  learn  the  language ; 
and  he  succeeded  so  far  as  to  be  able  to  converse 
tolerably  well  with  the  little  Mareska,  from  whom 
alone  he  received  any  intelligence  of  what  was 
going  forward,  since  all  but  herself  avoided  him. 
Her  visits  and  childish  playfulness,  by  awakening 
his  own  young  spirit  from  the  despondent  mood 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     167 

into  which  it  had  fallen,  had  rendered  life  more 
endurable,  and  he  performed  all  that  was  required 
of  him,  steadily  and  without  sullenness,  in  hopes 
that  every  day  would  bring  the  wished  for  intelli- 
gence from  Silesia.  But  the  sun  that  rose  on  his 
unfulfilled  wishes,  brought  no  fruition  at  its  setting; 
disappointment  succeeded  to  disappointment,  and 
his  master  held  him  at  too  great  a  distance  for 
him  to  dare  to  question.  It  was  only  to  gratify 
his  darling  Mareska  herself  that  she  was  permitted 
to  hold  converse  with  him. 

In  her  childish  delight,  she  had  shown  her  father 
the  toys  Felix  made  for  her  ;  and  as  he  sometimes 
had  to  pass  whole  days,  which  the  others  spent  as 
holidays  in  the  ale-house,  or  elsewhere,  alone  in 
the  meadow,  as  he  watched  the  horses,  he  worked 
the  whole  time  at  this  employment;  and  so  became 
quite  proficient  in  this  sort  of  rude  sculpture.  His 
avaricious  master  now  began  to  calculate  on  a  new 
branch  of  profit  from  his  services,  and  so  purchased 
a  small  collection  of  common  paints,  with  which  he 
one  day  surprised  him ;  and  as  he  at  the  same  time 
released  him  from  the  performance  of  some  of  the 
most  menial  offices,  this  toy-making  became  a 
favorite  pastime,  rather  than  a  labor.  He  pitied 
the  boy,  in  his  heart.  His  patient  endurance  of 
all  that  had  been  thrust  upon  him,  awoke  a  softer 
feeling;  arid  although  too  selfish  to  think  of  giving 
up  one  whose  services  were,  although  unjustly  ob- 
36 


168  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

tained,  so  likely  to  be  useful  to  himself,  he  relaxed 
much  from  his  early  severity,  and  conversed  with 
him  ;  at  times  deigning  even  to  comfort  him  when 
he  inquired  if  an  answer  had  come  from  his  pa- 
rents. But  at  last,  such  questions  awoke  his  impa- 
tience ;  and  one  day,  as  Felix  ventured  to  interro- 
gate him  on  the  unpleasant  subject,  he  fell  into  a 
passion,  and  answered  this  time  without  hypocrisy. 

"You  may  as  well  give  up  inquiring,  and  be 
contented  with  your  lot,  which  is  no  worse  than 
that  of  thousands.  You  remain  with  me  for  the 
present,  and  I  am  sure  you  have  nothing  here  to 
complain  of.  When  you  are  grown  up  to  be  a 
man,  and  able  to  travel,  I  will  let  you  go  to  your 
home ;  but  now,  such  a  thing  is  not  to  be  thought 
of,  since  it  is  not  proved  that  you  had  no  hand  in 
Dietrich's  sudden  death ;  neither  how  you  came  by 
the  money  found  in  your  possession  —  honestly,  I 
cannot  suppose ;  since  if  you  had,  you  would  not 
have  run  off  without  telling  any  one  your  master 
was  dead.  You  may  thank  your  stars  that  I 
picked  you  up,  for  if  I  had  not,  you  would  at  this 
moment  have  been  sitting  between  four  walls;  and 
no  cock  would  ever  crow  to  tell  that  the  day  had 
broke  on  which  you  were  to  set  out  for  your 
home." 

Half  broken-hearted  by  this  cruel  speech,  Felix 
turned  away  to  the  field  where  the  bondsmen  were 
reaping  oats  (for  he  had  now  been  many  months 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  169 

with  his  new  master,  and  the  ever  changing  seasons 
had  brought  seed-time  and  harvest  in  their  turns), 
and  took  his  place  among  them.  His  task  was  to 
bind  up  the  cut  grain  into  sheaves;  and  silent  and 
weeping,  he  prepared  to  fulfil  it.  His  distress  was 
noticed  by  one  of  the  men,  who,  until  this  time, 
had  ever  been  foremost  to  insult  and  wound  him ; 
and  Felix  had  been  particularly  careful  to  avoid 
him,  not  only  on  this  account,  but  such  was  the 
dark  and  villanous  expression  of  his  face,  that  it 
made  him  an  object  most  persons  would  seek  to 
shun. 

When  the  noontide  meal  was  brought  out,  and 
the  reapers  had  retired  to  a  shady  spot  to  eat  it, 
this  man  seeing  our  young  friend  refuse  his  portion, 
approached  him  ;  and  putting  on  an  aspect  of  com- 
miseration, began  to  condole  with  him  on  the  hard- 
ships of  his  lot,  at  the  same  time  hinting  that  he 
could  propose  a  plan  by  which  he  might  easily 
escape  from  his  present  servitude,  and  reach  his 
home. 

Felix,  as  we  have  said  before,  was  by  this  time 
sufficiently  versed  in  the  Polish  language  to  under- 
stand his  meaning  ;  he  raised  his  tear-swelled  eyes 
to  his  comrade's  face,  as  if  to  see  whether  he  was 
in  earnest ;  and  his  whole  frame  trembled  from 
excess  of  joyful  surprise.  Looking  the  question 
he  dared  not  venture  to  ask  of  one  he  had  ever 


170  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

approached  Avith  dread,  he  was  met  by  the  follow- 
ing proposal. 

"Listen  to  me  now,  and  be  prudent,"  said  the 
boor  ;  —  "  when  you  are  sent  to  the  meadows  to- 
night with  the  horses,  do  not  stop  there,  but  drive 
them  quietly  to  the  forest  which  lies  at  the  furthest 
side.  Myself  and  one  other  of  our  men  will  meet 
you  there ;  we  will  tie  the  horses  in  couples,  so  as 
to  drive  easily,  and  dash  on  to  try  our  fortunes  in 
the  wide  world.  Help  us  only  so  far  as  this,  and 
it  shall  be  our  care  to  see  that  you  reach  home 
safely,  and  no  man  shall  touch  a  hair  of  your  head." 

"Steal  my  master's  horses?"  repeated  the  indig- 
nant boy,  and  the  blush  of  shame  and  displeasure 
stole  over  his  pale  features  as  he  spoke  ;  "  never  ! 
I  am  no  thief.  Rather  will  I  die  in  my  hard 
master's  service,  herding  his  cattle  in  storms  and 
darkness  until  my  life  shall  end,  than  stand  before 
my  parents  as  a  thief  and  traitor." 

"You  are  a  fool,"  said  the  boor,  with  a  scornful 
laugh  ;  "  you  will  only  repay  one  great  wrong  with 
a  less.  The  justice  holds  you  in  his  service  here 
against  all  right,  because  he  finds  you  useful,  and  you 
cost  him  but  little.  If  you  were  not  such  a  block- 
head, you  might  be  sure  he  had  never  written  to 
enquire  about  your  parents,  since  he  is  determined 
to  keep  you  as  his  bondsman.  Your  money, 
whether  you  stole  it,  as  he  says  you  did,  or  not, 
has  gone  into  his  own  pocket ;  and  you  will  never 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  171 

see  your  home  again,  that  I  promise  you,  unless 
you  fall  in  with  what  I  have  proposed." 

"  If  the  justice  has  done  me  wrong,  and  deceived 
me  about  sending  to  my  parents,"  answered  Felix, 
"  God  has  many  ways  by  which,  in  his  own  good 
time,  he  can  deliver  me  from  this  misery.  You 
place  a  great  temptation  before  me ;  but,  believing 
as  I  do,  you  cannot  entice  me  to  do  what  I  know 
to  be  wrong." 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Lipinsky,  bursting  into  a  fit 
of  passion,  "  you  will  repent  your  refusal,  sorely 
repent  it.  To  your  own  hurt  be  it,  since  we  can 
accomplish  our  purpose  without  you.  But  look 
you  sharp,  my  young  man  —  if  you  breathe  one 
word,  or  give  a  hint  of  what  has  been  spoken  in 
this  conversation,  you  and  my  knife  shall  make 
close  acquaintance,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Lipinsky. 
So  mark  that,  you  Dutch  blockhead !" 

This  circumstance  served  greatly  to  increase  our 
hero's  embarrassment,  as  well  as  to  augment  his 
happiness.  Notwithstanding  the  threat  uttered  by 
Lipinsky,  he  believed  it  his  duty  to  give  his  master 
a  hint  of  what  was  intended ;  and  as  the  day  ad- 
vanced, and  no  opportunity  for  doing  so  presented 
itself,  his  uneasiness  grew  greater  as  the  moments 
flew  by.  With  his  thoughts  thus  painfully  busy, 
he  pursued  his  work,  mechanically  and  in  his  usual 
silence ;  but  the  very  blood  curdled  at  his  heart, 
when  on  raising  his  eyes  he  encountered  the  dark, 
36* 


172  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

revengeful  looks  of  Lipinsky,  who  never  for  a 
moment  ceased  to  regard  him. 

The  time  allotted  for  work  drew  to  a  close ;  but 
no  chance  of  communicating  with -his  master  had 
offered ;  and  sick  at  heart,  with  an  aching  head, 
and  apprehending  he  scarce  knew  what,  he  saw 
the  reapers  prepare  to  leave  the  field.  Lipinsky 
kept  close  heside  him,  and  prevented  a  word  from 
being  spoken.  He  trembled  as  with  a  fit  of  ague  as 
the  unsuspecting  owner  of  the  horses  came  to  him 
as  he  was  busy  with  his  charge  in  the  stable,  and 
bade  him  drive  them  to  that  part  of  the  wide 
meadow  which  was  in  sight  of  the  village,  but  most 
distant  from  the  farm-house.  This  was  the  very 
spot  desired  by  Lipinsky. 

"  What  ails  thee,  boy  ?  "  enquired  his  master, 
as  he  noticed  his  great  agitation  ;  "  have  you  been 
at  the  brandy  sent  out  to  the  reapers  ?" 

Felix  turned  to  answer,  but  a  threatening  look 
from  Lipinsky  fettered  his  tongue.  The  poor 
youth  trembled  only  the  more  as  he  answered,  "  I 
think,  sir,  you  must  let  me  stay  home  this  evening, 
for  I  am  very  sick." 

"  Pshaw — nonsense,"  rejoined  the  master,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  you  are  only  a  little  drunk ;  it  will  soon 
pass  off;  or,  I  suppose,  being  a  little  lofty,  you 
would  prefer  lying  in  a  warm  bed,  to  the  clear 
heavens  and  cold  earth.  But  there,  take  a  couple 
of  those  horse-blankets  with  you,  and  you  will 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  173 

sleep  like  a  prince.  Now  be  off  at  once,  and  do 
not  make  me  impatient." 

Felix  was  obliged  to  obey ;  and  as  he  left  the 
barn-yard  with  -his  horses,  he  heard  Lipinsky's 
scornful  laugh,  and  understood  its  meaning.  Words 
could  not  express  his  not  only  anxiety  but  perplex- 
ity. He  justly  feared  that  the  base  Lipinsky  would 
fall  upon  him  in  the  night,  and  rob  him  of  his 
horses,  and  perhaps  take  his  life ;  or  if  himself 
should  boldly  tell  his  master  of  the  intended  wrong 
in  the  miscreant's  presence,  the  latter,  who  pos- 
sessed his  confidence,  would  deny  the  whole  matter, 
and  have  him  punished  as  an  utterer  of  falsehood, 
desirous  of  supplanting  him  in  the  justice's  favor, 
by  showing  his  own  zeal  in  his  service. 

The  sun  had  not  yet  disappeared  behind  the  dark 
boundary  of  the  distant  forests,  and  the  air  was 
calm  and  still.  Felix,  stretched  upon  the  green 
sward,  lay  vainly  meditating  how  he  could  acquaint 
his  master  with  the  plot,  or  save  the  horses  him- 
self. He  dare  not  drive  them  to  another  part  of 
the  meadows,  since  this  spot  had  been  particularly 
designated.  The  sound  of  approaching  footsteps 
aroused  him ;  he  looked  up,  and  saw  the  little 
laughing  Mareska  beside  him.  She  was  fairly  out 
of  breath  with  the  speed  in  which  she  ran  over 
the  wide  fields  ;  but  her  whole  face  sparkled  with 
delight  as  she  handed  him  a  little  white  packet, 


174  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

done  up  in  white  paper,  which  she  carried  in  her 
hand. 

"I  have  brought  you  something,"  said  she,  ad- 
dressing the  boy;  "something  that  will  do  you 
good,  now  that  you  are  sick.  See  what  a  nice 
cake  it  is  !  and  you  shall  eat  it,  because  you  have 
always  been  so  good  to  me,  and  made  me  such 
pretty  toys.  But  do  not  look  so  sorrowful  as  you 
did  this  morning,  when  you  talked  to  my  father;  I 
will  be  good  to  you,  if  he  is  not,  for  I  do  not  like 
to  see  any  one  sad." 

Felix  patted  her  curly  head;  and  as  he  accepted 
her  cake,  which  it  would  have  pained  her  to  have 
refused,  his  eye  fell  upon  the  white  paper  in  which 
it  was  enveloped,  and,  quick  as  lightning,  a  thought 
flashed  through  his  brain.  He  had  a  piece  of  red 
chalk  in  his  pocket,  that  he  used  for  marking  the 
wood  from  which  he  cut  the  toys  for  Mareska;  and 
although  the  twilight  was  beginning  to  fall,  he 
drew  upon  the  paper,  with  hasty  strokes,  the  scene 
in  which  he  now  was  placed. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  drawing  he  had 
practised  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  Dietrich's  cot- 
tage, came  to  his  aid ;  and  as  he  sketched  his  rude 
draught,  he  acknowledged  the  mercy  that  rules 
over  man,  fitting  him  for  his  destiny,  and  preparing 
him  to  meet  all  life's  emergencies. 

The  horses  feeding  quietly — himself  sitting  on 
the  ground — Lipinsky  (who  was  easily  made  recog- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  175 

nisable  by  his  peculiar  cap,  and  natural  deformity 
of  one  arm  shorter  than  the  other),  creeping  up 
behind  him  with  his  naked  knife  —  these  objects 
formed  the  foreground.  In  the  distance,  bounded 
by  the  forest,  were  some  two  or  three  men,  with 
ropes  and  halters  in  their  hands.  Badly  drawn, 
and  with  such  materials,  it  was  yet  striking  enough 
to  show,  at  the  first  glance,  it  was  intended  to 
designate  something  in  reference  to  the  horses. 
What  that  was,  Felix  trusted  to  the  sagacity,  or 
rather  to  the  proverbial  Polish  cunning,  to  find 
out.  He  scarcely  doubted  but  that,  through  the 
little  Mareska,  the  picture  would  find  its  way  to 
the  hands  of  her  father ;  the  only  fear  was  that  he 
might  be  absent.  If  he  could  but  have  written  a 
few  words,  it  would  have  been  more  to  the  purpose; 
but  his  master  could  not  read  German,  neither 
could  he  have  made  the  circumstance  known  in  his 
own  limited  knowledge  of  the  Polish  letters. 

A  short  time  having  served  to  complete  the  rude 
picture,  he  gave  it  into  the  hands  of  the  little 
Mareska,  who  clapped  her  hands  for  very  joy,  and 
ran  off  at  full  speed  to  show  her  treasure ;  not 
waiting  to  hear  his  injunction  not  to  let  any  one 
see  it  but  papinka.  He  knew  that,  when  at  home, 
the  old  man  usually  amused  himself  with  his  little 
daughter,  in  the  evening  twilight,  and  that  she 
never  was  repulsed ;  whether  clambering  on  his 
knee,  or  hanging  round  his  neck,  she  was  a  favorite 


176  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

at  all  times,  and  in  all  places.  The  boy  watched 
her  receding  form,  as  she  bounded  over  the  wide, 
level  field,  until  the  thickening  twilight  hid  it  from 
his  view ;  then,  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  huge 
willow  that  grew  at  the  border  of  the  meadow,  he 
looked  anxiously  in  the  direction  of  the  village,  to 
see  if  any  uncommon  movement  was  taking  place 
there :  but  all  was  quiet ;  no  sounds  were  heard, 
save  the  whispering  of  the  breeze,  or  the  monoto- 
nous chirp  of  the  cricket.  Night  sunk  down  upon 
the  plain ;  and,  bathed  in  the  cooling  dews,  reposed 
in  solemn  stillness.  A  few  kindly  stars  twinkled 
in  the  sky ;  but  still,  the  darkness  was  so  great 
that  any  one  might  have  approached  quite  close 
without  being  seen.  So  calm  and  peaceful,  so  holy 
and  pure  was  the  whole  scene,  it  seemed  almost 
impious  to  suppose  its  enjoyment  and  quiet  could 
be  interrupted  by  fears  or  deeds  of  bloodshed ;  and 
yet  our  hero  could  not  divest  himself  of  the  appre- 
hension of  lurking  danger.  Worn  out  with  the 
labors  of  the  day,  he  dared  not  yield  to  the  drow- 
siness which  oppressed  him ;  and  although,  at 
times,  nearly  conquered  by  sleep,  he  yet  manfully 
resisted  the  desire,  by  using  every  expedient  he 
could  think  of  to  keep  himself  awake. 

Midnight  had  come,  and  nought  had  disturbed 
its  solemn  hush.  He  began  to  think  his  fears  had 
magnified  the  danger  —  that  Lipinsky  had  only 
been  tampering  with  his  honesty,  to  see  if  he  was 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  177 

indeed  the  deceiver  he  had  beeii  represented ;  and 
he  now  began  to  consider  whether  he  might  not 
conscientiously  yield  to  the  burden  of  fatigue  and 
drowsiness  which  lay  upon  him.  His  eyes  closed ; 
his  relaxed  frame,  and  wearied  mind,  released  from 
the  forced  action  he  had  imposed  on  both,  had  in 
another  moment  settled  into  sleep  ;  but  just  then  a 
rustling  noise,  unlike  the  whispering  made  by  the 
breeze  among  the  branches,  aroused  both,  in  an 
instant,  to  the  full  power  of  action.  He  listened 
—  it  was  no  deception,  for  it  came  nearer;  he 
looked  —  no  light  was  visible  from  the  village ; 
nothing  to  show  that  any  one  was  on  the  alert  to 
apprehend  danger,  or  prevent  violence.  He  placed 
his  fore-finger  within  his  lips,  and  gave  a  shrill, 
piercing  whistle ;  hoping  that,  as  the  wind  blew  in 
the  direction  towards  the  village,  it  would  be  heard 
by  some  one  there,  and  so  awaken  alarm,  and 
bring  help. 

The  rustling  grew  more  distinct ;  and  he  had 
scarcely  time  to  press  himself  close  and  closer,  for 
concealment,  behind  the  huge  trunk  of  the  willow, 
before  two  figures  rose  up,  as  if  out  of  the  earth, 
just  beside  him.  A  ditch  ran  on  this  side  of  the 
meadow,  nearly  to  the  village ;  and,  creeping 
stealthily  along  its  course,  they  had  gained  the 
spot  almost  noiselessly,  and,  had  any  one  been  on 
,he  watch,  without  being  observed.  They  stopped 
'.or  a  moment,  looking  carefully  around,  as  if  for 


178     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

some  one ;  but  the  friendly  trunk  of  the  spreading 
•willow,  effectually  concealed  the  watching  boy  from 
their  notice. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  a  voice  which  Felix  knew 
to  be  Lipinsky's,  although  he  could  not  distinguish 
his  figure  in  the  dim  starlight.  "  I  thought  that 
stupid  Dutch  fool  would  pull  his  head  out  of  the 
noose,  and  give  us  leg  bail.  He  has  certainly  run 
off  and  left  old  Petrowsky's  noble  horses  for  us  to 
do  as  we  please  with.  Well,  it  is  all  the  better." 

As  he  spoke,  he  carefully  approached  the  ani- 
mals, and  rousing  them  with  as  little  noise  as 
possible,  endeavored  to  drive  them  into  the  forest, 
which,  as  we  have  said,  skirted  the  farthest  side  of 
the  meadow.  Felix  strained  his  powers  of  vision 
until  his  eye-balls  pained  him,  towards  the  village, 
in  hopes  of  the  expected  help,  but  in  vain  ;  none 
came.  He  was  about  to  repeat  his  call  of  alarm, 
when  suddenly  one  of  the  men  uttered  a  loud  cry 
of  pain,  accompanied  with  a  volley  of  oaths.  He 
had  approached  quite  close  to  a  noble  black  horse, 
the  peculiar  favorite  of  his  owner,  and  was  about 
to  throw  the  halter  over  his  head ;  but  the  spirited 
animal  resisted  the  effort,  and  rearing  up,  struck 
out  with  his  fore-feet,  and  wounded  him  severely 
on  the  ancle.  As  he  lay  moaning  on  the  earth, 
Lipinsky  came  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Get  up,  you  screeching  fool,"  he  cried,  after 
he  had  first  vented  his  rage  in  a  hearty  fit  of 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  179 

cursing;  "what  business  had  you  to  touch  that 
horse?  the  wild  devil  won't  let  anybody  but  his 
master,  and  that  Dutch  thief,  halter  him.  Get  up, 
I  tell  you,  and  quit  your  whining,  or  else  you  will 
have  the  farm-people  here  before  you  know  what 
you  are  about;  and  so  your  head  will  be  knocked 
off  to  keep  company  with  your  log." 

Lipinsky  did  not  utter  this  speech  without  many 
interruptions,  for  the  unmanageable  horse  gave 
him  much  to  do  to  keep  him  at  all  in  bounds,  for 
although  he  held  him  by  the  halter,  endeavoring  at 
the  same  time  to  couple  him  with  two  others,  all 
had  become  so  frightened  and  unruly,  that  the 
effort  to  fasten  them  required  more  strength  than 
the  churl  had  at  his  disposal. 

Felix  was  aware  of  his  embarrassment,  made 
more  plain  by  his  continued  and  murmured  impre- 
cations, than  could  be  visible  in  the  dim  light;  and 
taking  advantage  of  the  moment,  he  again  gave 
that  peculiar  loud  and  shrill  whistle,  commonly 
used  as  a  signal.  This  time,  the  sound  reached  the 
village,  as  at  once  he  knew ;  for  the  dogs  were 
awakened,  and  began  to  bark  loudly.  Lipinsky 
now  became  furious,  and  desperate. 

"  Betrayed !  betrayed !  and  by  that  accursed 
Dutchman,"  he  cried,  aloud;  and  Approached  the 
tree  beneath  whose  dark  shadow  Felix  found  pro- 
tection. Anxious,  however,  to  retain  possession 
of  the  horses,  now  that  he  had  got  it,  he  still 
37 


180  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

endeavored  to  force  them  towards  the  wood,  within 
whose  shadow  lay  his  only  chance  of  safety,  should 
the  alarm  have  reached  the  village ;  but  the  nearer 
he  drew  them  to  the  willow  behind  which  our  hero 
stood,  the  more  unmanageable  they  became,  start- 
ing back  and  rearing,  being  frightened  by  the  man 
•who  still  lay  moaning  on  the  spot  where  he  had  at 
first  fallen. 

Finding  his  hiding-place  no  longer  safe,  Felix 
now  left  it,  and  set  off  at  the  top  of  his  speed 
towards  the  homestead ;  calling  for  help  with  all 
the  strength  of  which  he  was  master. 

"  I  will  stop  your  mouth,  boy,  if  I  can  do  no- 
thing else,"  muttered  the  treacherous  vassal ;  as, 
with  low  curses  spoken  between  his  teeth,  he  let 
go  the  leather  thong  with  which  he  was  endea- 
voring to  lead  the  unruly  horse,  that  now,  dashing 
wildly  over  the  plain  in  full  force  of  his  recovered 
liberty,  turned  his  ringing  footsteps  directly  to  the 
village.  Lipinsky  knew  he  would  not  stop  until  he 
had  reached  his  master's  dwelling.  Not  a  moment 
was  to  be  lost  —  and  he  resolved  effectually  to 
silence  the  boy,  whose  evidence  must  betray  him ; 
and  ere  Felix  was  many  yards  distant  from  the 
willow,  his  enemy  was  in  full  pursuit.  Fleet  of 
foot,  and  possessed  of  great  strength,  he  soon 
gained  rapidly  on  the  young  fugitive ;  and  at  last 
reached  within  a  few  steps  of  him.  Felix  half 
turned  his  head,  and  as  he  saw  the  murderous  knife 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  181 

gleaming  in  his  upraised  hand,  he  thought  himself 
lost.  His  limbs  trembled,  but  he  sped  onwards ; 
but  in  his  haste  and  anxiety  turning  somewhat 
from  the  path,  he  stumbled  over  the  protruding 
root  of  a  tree,  and  fell  headlong  on  the  earth ; 
rolling,  as  he  did  so,  into  a  slight  declivity,  or 
rather  what  was  a  partially  filled-up  ditch. 

This  saved  him.  His  pursuer,  proceeding  with 
a  velocity  which  he  could  not  in  an  instant  control, 
bounded  past  him  ;  but  almost  instantly  he  turned, 
rejoicing  that  his  proposed  vengeance  should  be  so 
easily  accomplished  on  his  young  and  fallen  victim. 
He  laughed  aloud,  and  it  sounded  like  the  rejoicing 
of  a  demon,  as  he  looked  around  for  him ;  for  he 
could  not  see  at  once  where  he  had  so  suddenly 
disappeared ;  but  this  one  moment  decided  our 
hero's  fate.  Lipinsky  saw,  and,  knife  in  hand, 
again  approached  him  ;  but  ere  he  could  stoop  to 
drag  the  fallen  boy  forth,  he  found  himself  sud- 
denly seized  and  restrained  by  a  pair  of  powerful 
arms. 

Felix  still  lay  senseless  on  the  earth,  for  he  had 
received  a  slight  contusion  on  his  hea«.l,  by  which 
he  was  completely  stunned ;  but  he  at  length  was 
conscious  that  some  one  was  raising  him  up,  and 
rubbing  his  brow  and  hands.  As  he  opened  his 
eyes,  a  number  of  persons  were  standing  around 
him  with  lighted  lanterns,  the  glare  of  which  fell 
upon  the  dark  face  of  Lipinsky ;  who  now,  bound 


THE   NEIGHBORS     CHILDREN.- 

with  cords,  was  carefully  guarded  by  the  strongest 
of  the  p;irty.  Three  or  four  others  were  preparing 
to  carry  his  wounded  comrade  to  the  village ;  it 
having  by  this  time  been  ascertained  that  his  leg 
was  broken. 

The  plan  of  our  young  friend  had  succeeded. 
Mareska  had  hardly  reached  home,  before  she 
sought  her  father;  and  climbing  upon  his  knee, 
nearly  wild  with  joy,  was  in  haste  to  show  him 
what  she  called  her  "beautiful  picture." 

'•  0,  father!  only  look  here!"  she  cried;  "did 
you  ever  see  such  pretty  horses  as  these  that  Felix 
has  drawn  for  me?  Just  say  now,  does  not  this 
look  like  our  wild  Black  Raven,  that  always  kicks 
when  you  go  near  him  ?" 

Petrowsky  took  the  picture  fr<  m  the  child's 
hand,  and  laughingly,  to  tease  her,  began  to  criti- 
cise the  manner  in  which  it  was  executed ;  averring 
that  if  she  had  not  told  him  what  figure  was  in- 
tended for  Black  Raven,  he  would  have  supposed 
it  her  mother's  black  cat,  that  had  been  chased  out 
of  the  pantry  ;  and  the  boy  lying  on  the  ground, 
was  to  show  that  Felix  was  lazy  and  sleepy.  Ma- 
reska, who  was  very  much  displeased,  had  not  to 
endure  this  ridicule  of  her  favorite  very  long ;  for 
he,  remembering  the  boy's  singular  behavior  in  the 
morning,  as  he  now  looked  at  the  rude  picture, 
began  to  think  there  might  be  more  meaning  iu  it 
than,  at  the  first  glance,  he  had  supposed. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  183 

He  gave  up  his  jesting,  and  examined  it  atten- 
tively. That  something  menaced  the  safety  of  the 
horses,  he  felt  assured ;  and  as  he  looked,  his  cold 
grey  eye  blazed  up  with  angry  fire,  and  instead  of 
giving  back  the  drawing  to  the  child,  he  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket.  Mareska  looked  at  him  in  asto- 
nishment. She  could  not  think  how  she  had  dis- 
pleased him ;  for,  to  her,  he  was  always  indulgent. 
She  began  to  cry ;  but,  contrary  to  his  wont,  to 
this  he  paid  no  attention.  Without  speaking  a 
word,  he  put  her  down  from  his  knee ;  and  giving 
a  sign  to  his  brother,  who  was  on  a  visit  there  that 
evening,  that  he  had  business  with  him,  they  left 
the  room  together. 

A  long  conversation,  which  they  held  together 
in  a  distant  chamber,  was  followed  by  the  result 
we  have  described,  and  ended  in  the  apprehension 
of  the  treacherous  vassals,  and  the  deliverance  of 
Felix.  The  former  were  committed  to  prison;  and 
when  Lipinsky  found  that  nothing  else  would  avail, 
he  threw  himself  on  the  clemency  of  his  master, 
and  made  a  full  confession.  He  stated  that  he  had 
tried  to  persuade  Felix  to  fly  with  him ;  that  he 
had  promised  to  take  him  at  once  to  his  parents, 
if  he  would  but  lead  the  horses  into  the  forest,, 
from  whence  they  could  have  succeeded  in  their 
plan,  and  with  less  danger  than  was  promised  by  a 
nearer  vicinity  to  the  village. 

As  Petrowsky  listened,  he  rejoiced  not  only  in 
37* 


THE   NEIGHBORS     CHILDREN. 

the  sagacity  as  manifested  by  the  shrewd  expedient 
of  the  boy,  but  his  heart  was  touched  by  the  faith- 
fulness and  integrity  exhibited  in  his  service.  He 
felt  ashamed  that  he  had  treated  him  so  badly. 
His  conscience  now  reproached  him  for  having 
degraded  one  whom,  if  he  was  not  a  nobleman's 
son,  as  he  represented  himself  to  be,  was  at  least 
no  born  vassal  to  the  low  rank  of  a  serf;  and  he 
resolved  now  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  have  him 
restored  to  his  home  and  parents.  But  as  some 
little  shadow  of  doubt  still  clouded  the  confidence 
he  was  beginning  to  have  in  Felix,  he  could  not  at 
once  resolve  to  give  him  the  money  he  had  taken 
from  him,  and  a  safe-conduct  into  Silesia.  No; 
he  would  go  the  next  day  to  Wilna,  and  ask 
counsel  of  a  merchant  with  whom  he  was  wel? 
acquainted,  in  that  city,  and  whom,  he  knew,  was 
in  a  business  correspondence  with  the  wool-dealers 
of  Silesia. 

This  person  was  to  write  at  once,  to  know 
whether  such  a  person  as  Baron  Lindenburg  lived  at 
Steinrode,  and  whether  he  mourned  an  absent  son; 
and  if  our  hero's  tale  should  prove  true,  tell  him 
where  to  come  and  seek  him.  This  was  the  reward 
—  the  best  he  could  have  —  for  his  honorable  con- 
duct in  his  master's  service;  and  with  what  heart- 
felt sincerity  he  thanked  his  heavenly  Father,  who 
had  so  kindly  changed  the  tide  of  sorrow,  in  the 
space  of  a  few  days,  to  that  \\hich  was,  ill  compa- 
rison, a  full  flood  of  joy ! 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     185 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"I  urn  disgraced,  impeached,  and  baffled  here." 

HOPE  once  more  lent  her  purple  coloring  to  our 
hero's  prospects ;  light  tinged  again  his  life's 
horizon,  so  lately  bounded  by  darkest  clouds ;  and 
in  the  childlike  confidence  in  which  he  now  looked 
forward  for  a  speedy  restoration  to  his  home,  almost 
forgot  that  he  had  sorrowed  or  suffered.  His 
eyes  again  beamed  forth  its  smiles  of  boyish  glad- 
ness, his  step  resumed  its  vigor,  and  performed 
every  duty  required  of  his  master  in  the  very  spirit 
of  cheerfulness.  "  Home  and  parents,"  was  the 
constant  burden  of  his  thoughts ;  he  spoke  often 
of  his  homeward  journey — listened  to  the  sound  of 
every  strange  voice  and  rolling  carriage,  with  a 
beating  heart ;  for  he  expected  every  moment  to 
see  his  father,  or  some  messenger  with  whom  he 
was  to  travel,  arrive. 

With  every  day  his  anxiety  became  greater,  but 
one  after  another  passed  by,  yet  no  tidings  came. 
The  justice  at  length  declared  his  intention  of 
going  to  the  capital  of  the  province,  where  he 
regularly  went  to  attend  the  yearly  market,  and 
bade  Felix  be  in  readiness  to  go  with  him ;  for 


186  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

much  as  he  grieved  to  part  with  him,  the  impres- 
sion made  by  the  boy's  honorable  conduct  had 
touched  him  too  deeply  for  him  to  wish  to  hold 
him  any  longer  in  unjust  bondage. 

Latterly  he  had  exempted  him  from  menial 
labor,  treating  him  more  as  a  son  than  a  servant ; 
and  now  had  fitted  him  out  in  a  new  suit  of  clothes, 
to  which  the  little  Mareska  had  added  her  own 
bright  and  many-colored  handkerchief,  and  by  the 
united  effect  of  both,  his  appearance  was  greatly 
improved. 

It  is  true,  no  great  taste  was  displayed  in  the 
color,  texture,  or  fitting  of  the  garments  ;  and 
Eugene  might  have  laughed  to  see  him  dressed  in 
the  fashion  of  the  better  sort  of  farmers'  sons. 
Into  that  rude  and  remote  province  no  Parisian 
modes  ever  had  found  their  way ;  and  our  hero 
was  only  too  glad  to  exchange  his  peasant  garb  of 
untanned  sheepskin  for  one  whose  less  primitive 
material  gave  him  more  the  appearance  of  a  civil- 
ized being. 

He  really  looked  the  farm-boy  well  ;  and  his 
plain  clothing  could  not  hide  the  refinement  of 
manner  received  in  his  early  training,  and  which 
subsequent  hardships  had  failed  to  obliterate. 

His  kindling  hopes  were  somewhat  damped  by 
the  news  he  heard  on  his  reaching  the  town.  The 
merchant  had  written  to  his  business  friend  in 
Silesia,  who  returned  for  answer  that  the  posses- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  187 

sor  of  Steinrode  was  no  Baron  Lindenburg,  or  any 
other  German  noble,  but  a  rich  old  Englishman, 
who  had  neither  wife  nor  children,  and  was  at 
present  absent  on  a  journey  to  Paris  and  London, 
and  the  servants,  who  were  all  English,  knew 
nothing  of  the  family  who  hid  lived  there  before, 
their  master  baving  had  possession  for  nearly  four 
years. 

This,  the  writer  added,  was  the  simple  truth ; 
there  was,  therefore,  no  doubt  but  that  the  magis- 
trate had  been  deceived  by  some  artful  boy,  who 
wished  to  pass  himself  off  as  the  son  of  a  noble- 
man, for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  since  he, 
the  Silesian  merchant,  himself  had  been  at  Stein- 
rode  only  a  few  weeks  before,  as  he  was  on  a  hasty 
tour  through  the  country,  the  object  of  which  was 
to  purchase  wool. 

It  was  true,  as  far  as  it  went ;  for  the  person, 
being  taken  up  by  the  traffic  by  which  he  was  to 
profit,  made  but  few  enquiries,  and  those  of  persons 
least  likely  to  know,  namely,  English  servants, 
who,  riot  understanding  the  language,  held  no 
intercourse  with  the  peasantry;  and,  with  the 
characteristic  exclusiveness  of  the  nation  to  which 
they  belonged,  sought  no  companionship  save 
among  themselves. 

The  blood  mounted  high  to  our  young  friend's 
temples  as  he  found  himself  looked  upon  as  a 
deceiver ;  but  he  soon  forgot  all  uneasiness  on  his 


188 


THE    NEIGHBORS     CHILDREN. 


own  account,  in  anxiety  to  know  the  fate  of  his 
beloved  parents.  What  could  have  happened,  that 
they  had  left  Steinrode  ?  He  could  not  think  of 
Steinrode  as  owned  by  any  other  than  his  father. 
Where  now  was  the  poor  boy  to  seek  them  ?  He 
turned  to  his  master,  dreading  to  meet  his  cold 
eye,  his  distrustful  glance ;  but  the  man  lately  so 
stern,  had  been  disarmed  of  all  suspicion  by  the 
open  straight -forward  course  steadily  pursued  by 
the  boy. 

"  Cheer  up.  cheer  up,  my  little  man,"  said  he, 
kindly  ;  "  I  have  no  more  doubt  of  your  integrity 
than  I  have  of  my  own  existence.  You  have 
sufficiently  proved  to  me  what  you  are,  and  I  will 
do  all  in  my  power  to  find  out  where  your  family 
have  removed." 

Petrowsky's  friend,  the  merchant  of  Wilna,  who 
stood  by  and  heard  what  was  said,  now  added  a 
word  or  two  of  his  own. 

"H is  a  heels-over-head  sort  of  a  body," 

said  he ;  "  I  am  going  in  the  spring  into  Germany 
on  business,  and  can  take  Silesia  in  my  way ;  and 
it  will  be  as  well  to  take  this  boy  with  me,  as  I 
must  have  some  one.  We  can  soon  find  out  where 
his  family  have  gone." 

This  decision  pleased  the  justice  quite  well ;  but 
to  our  poor  Felix,  whose  hopes  had  been  so  highly 
raised,  the  delay  seemed  cruel.  He  thought  to 
have  by«n  at  home  in  a  few  weeks  at  the  farthest; 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  189 

but  now,  after  an  absence  of  more  than  four  years, 
he  must  remain  throughout  a  whole  winter.  Why 
could  they  not  let  him  go  to  Steinrode  himself? 
he  would  go  on  foot,  "  yes,  and  willingly,  too,  only 
let  him  set  out." 

As  his  impatience  arose  to  the  highest  pitch,  he 
thought  involuntarily  of  what  his  mother  had  often 
said,  as  she  reproved  him  for  this  his  greatest  fault, 
"  Ah,  Felix,  my  dear  Felix,  you  will  have  to  learn 
that  patience  in  which  you  are  so  greatly  wanting, 
in  a  harder  school  than  the  present."  Tears 
swelled  in  his  eyes,  although  he  checked  their 
overflow,  as  the  thought  arose  in  his  heart ;  "  0, 
my  mother,  your  prediction  has  been  accomplished 
by  a  sterner  ordeal  than  any  of  which  you  could 
have  dreamed." 

"I  have  another  plan,"  said  Petrowsky  to  the 
merchant,  "  which  I  think  you  will  approve.  How 
would  it  be,  if  I  would  leave  this  boy  with  you 
here  in  the  city  ?  I  owe  a  great  deal  to  him,  which 
I  would  willingly  repay ;  and  in  the  remote  dis- 
trict where  I  live,  I  cannot  do  for  him  as  I  feel  I 
ought.  I  am  sure  he  is  a  gentleman's  son  ;  hard 
work  is  not  what  he  ought  to  be  set  to ;  he  has 
been  taught  from  books ;  and  it  is  a  pity  he  should 
forget  what  he  has  learned.  I  wish  that  he  should 
go  to  school.  See,  here  is  money  to  pay  the  ex- 
pense ;  it  belongs  to  himself,  and  I  will  willingly 


190     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

add  more  if  you  will  help  me  to  accomplish  what  I 
design  for  him." 

"I  will  help  you  all  I  can,"  answered  his  friend, 
"  since  you  tell  me  he  is  so  good  a  boy  ;  I  will  keep 
him  in  my  own  house,  and  let  him  go  to  school 
with  my  son.  If  he  was  a  wild,  giddy-pated  fellow, 
I  would  not  do  so ;  for  I  have  too  much  business  to 
attend  to,  to  be  able  to  look  after  boys  that  play 
pranks,  and  for  which  a  large  city  like  this  offers 
only  too  much  opportunity.  I  like  the  boy's  looks, 
and  think  I  shall  not  have  any  reason  to  regret 
having  kept  him  in  my  house  until  we  are  ready  to 
set  out  for  Silesia." 

"I  am  sure  you  will  not,"  rejoined  the  justice; 
"but,  Felix,  what  will  my  little  Mareska  say,  when 
she  sees  I  have  left  you  behind?" 

Felix  answered  only  by  a  smile.  Some  regret 
he  felt  at  the  thought  that  most  probably  he  should 
never  again  see  that  gentle  little  child,  who  had 
been  his  comfort  and  solace  when  he  had  no  bright- 
ness in  life,  save  what  was  bestowed  by  her  true 
and  artless  affection.  Yet  he  knew  childhood  has 
no  lasting  regrets,  and  she  would  soon  forget  him  ; 
and  for  his  own  part,  no  consideration  could  have 
any  weight  put  in  competition  with  his  extreme 
anxiety  to  be  at  home.  Great  was  his  joy  now, 
since  he  must  remain,  to  be  able  to  go  to  school. 
How  far,  very  far,  must  he  be  behind  his  brother 
Herman,  in  his  studies ! 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  191 

He  kissed  the  hand  of  his  once  stern  master, 
who  promised,  if  possible,  to  see  him  often  through 
the  winter ;  sent  many  greetings  to  his  little  favor- 
ite Mareska,  and  looked  after  the  retreating  carriage 
of  him  who  had  changed  from  being  his  oppressor 
into  his  friend,  with  that  indescribable  feeling  we 
have  when  we  believe  we  have  parted  forever  with 
one  to  whom  we  have  long  been  accustomed,  until 
it  was  out  of  sight. 

He  was  now  happier  than  he  had  been  since  the 
day  Dietrich  forced  him  from  Steinrode ;  for  he 
now  enjoyed,  in  a  family  of  some  refinement,  the 
comforts  that  belong  to  more  civilized  life  than  that 
he  found  in  the  rude  and  distant  province  which 
had  so  long  been  his  home.  Those  to  whom  the  word 
neatness  is  without  meaning,  as  was  the  case  in  the 
hovel  of  Dietrich,  or  the  better  dwelling  of  the 
justice,  can  have  no  idea  of  the  discomfort  the 
want  of  it  produces  to  those  whose  refined  habits 
make  it  almost  as  necessary  as  the  air  we  breathe. 

His  well-washed  clothes  (and  clean  clothes  are  a 
luxury),  his  good  bed,  and  neatly  swept  chamber, 
turning  back  the  tide  of  habit  to  what  it  had  been 
at  Steinrode,  awoke  a  spirit  of  thankfulness ;  and 
cheerfulness  once  more  laughed  out  from  his  eyes, 
and  the  bright  glow  of  health  mantled  his  cheek — 
he  looked  the  Felix  of  other  days. 

Henry,  the  merchant's  son,  was  an  amiable  boy, 
near  his  own  age;  and  he  found  much  more  pleasure 
38 


192  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

in  his  companionship  than  he  had  ever  done  in  that 
of  Eugene.  As  he  was  most  anxious  to  make  up 
for  lost  time,  he  was  so  diligent  at  his  studies,  that 
his  example  served  as  a  spur  to  Henry,  who  was 
a  little  indolent ;  a  circumstance  which  caused  the 
good  merchant  to  rejoice  that  he  had  received  him 
into  his  household. 

As  the  winter  passed  over,  and  the  spring-time 
drew  near,  he  was  selfish  enough  to  wish  to  retain 
him  ;  but  he  felt  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  detain 
him  by  any  pretext  whatever  ;  for  that  his  soul 
was  filled  with  longings  to  be  with  his  loved-ones, 
was  evident  from  the  emotion  he  ever  exhibited 
when  speaking  of  them. 

At  length  the  snows  melted  away,  and  the  sun, 
no  longer  veiled  by  wintry  clouds,  shone  forth  with 
benevolent  warmth,  and  invited  the  approach  of 
spring.  Felix  imagined  how  beautiful  the  moun- 
tains of  Silesia — the  fields,  the  park,  the  gardens 
of  Steinrode  would  look  by  the  time  he  should 
have  reached  them  ;  and  as  preparations  now  were 
really  making  for  their  departure,  he  could  scarcely 
control  his  impatience,  or  wait  with  moderate 
transport  the  arrival  of  the  day  on  which  they  were 
to  set  out.  At  length  even  that  was  named,  and 
but  one  solitary  cloud  hung  over  the  brightness  of 
the  spirit  with  which  he  anticipated  its  coming  — 
one  brooding  thought  that  disturbed  the  peaceful 
flow  of  his  present  joy.  Had  he  been  absorbed  in 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  193 

self,  the  fate  of  Eugene  would  have  given  him  no 
uneasiness ;  but  he  was  now  so  happy  himself,  that 
he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  poor  Eugene  remain- 
ing behind.  Where  was  the  unhappy  boy  wander- 
ing, a  fugitive  in  a  strange  land,  enduring  all  the 
ills  of  poverty  and  misery  ?  no  doubt,  if  living,  a 
slave  to  some  cruel  master,  as  himself  had  been. 

He  was  standing  near  the  door  of  the  counting 
room  one  day,  buried  in  such  meditations,  when 
Mr.  Berndt  came  out,  with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 
The  boy  whose  business  it  was  to  carry  letters  to 
the  post-office  was  nowhere  to  be  seen ;  and  the 
merchant  with  manifest  impatience  began  to  call 
him  loudly  ;  but  the  lad  did  not  appear  in  answer 
to  his  summons. 

"This  is  too  bad,"  said  he;  "here  is  a  letter 
containing  money  to  be  sent,  and  that  fellow  out 
of  the  way ;  time  presses  —  here,  Felix,  there  is 
nothing  left  for  it  but  that  you  must  run  quickly 
to  the  office  and  put  this  letter  in  the  mail  before 
it  closes." 

Our  hero  was  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  of 
obliging ;  and  setting  off  at  a  round  pace,  he  soon 
traversed  the  intervening  squares,  and  was  fairly 
out  of  breath  when  he  arrived  at  the  place ;  but 
he  found  the  window  so  completely  crowded  by 
persons  who  had  come  before,  and  were  impatient 
to  be  served,  that  he  could  not  force  his  way  to  the 


194     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

box  in  which  it  was  the  custom  to  deposit  the 
letters  or  parcels  to  be  dispatched. 

Fearing  for  the  safety  of  his  important  missive 
in  such  a  crowd,  he  cautiously  concealed  it  in  the 
inner  pocket  of  his  vest ;  and  crossing  his  arms 
over  his  bosom,  as  though  to  insure  its  security,  he 
stood  on  the  pavement  near  the  door,  enjoying  the 
bright  sunbeams  that  poured  their  invigorating 
warmth  on  all  around,  and  woke  a  pure  tide  of  life 
in  all. 

As  he  stood  looking  at  the  dial-plate  of  the  old 
clock  on  the  tower  of  the  Bath-house,  whose  hands 
showed  that  the  time  for  closing  the  mail  was  not 
near  elapsed,  he  observed  a  slender,  well-dressed  boy, 
apparently  belonging  to  the  upper  class,  come  from 
a  cross-street,  and  as  he  slowly  walked  along  to- 
wards the  tower,  draw  a  small  gold  watch  from  his 
pocket,  on  which  he  would  often  stop  to  gaze  with 
great  seeming  satisfaction. 

A  few  coarsely  clothed,  dirty  faced  children, 
who  were  noiselessly  playing  in  his  way,  gave  up 
their  sport  at  his  angry  bidding,  and  stood  looking 
at  the  beautiful  bauble  he  held  in  his  hand  with 
looks  of  mingled  curiosity  and  envy.  This  seemed 
to  flatter  the  silly  boy's  vanity,  and  he  resolved  to 
enjoy  the  implied  preeminence  it  gave  him  to  the 
utmost.  What  was  it  that  they  were  children,  and 
of  the  rabble?  it  was  a  sort  of  homage  implied  to 
himself,  and  that  is  a  tribute  none  ever  refuse. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     195 

ft  was  easy  to  see  how  inflated  he  was  with  his 
fancied  importance,  as,  still  surveying  his  \\utch, 
he  came  up  quite  close  to  the  tower,  and  remained 
standing  at  the  corner  of  the  principal  street,  from 
which  many  others  diverge,  and  lead  down  into 
narrow,  dark,  and  intricate  courts,  inhabited  only 
hy  the  outcasts  of  society,  or  into  dens  where  vice 
finds  a  secure  hiding-place  ;  there,  looking  up  at 
the  dial-plate,  he  began  to  set  his  watch  to  the 
right  time. 

At  this  moment  a  boy,  something  larger  than 
himself,  and  most  miserably  clothed,  darted  like 
lightning  from  the  point  we  have  mentioned  to- 
wards him,  tore  the  watch  from  his  hand,  and 
vanished  as  suddenly  as  he  had  appeared  down  one 
of  those  gloomy  alleys,  disappearing  as  effectually 
as  if  the  earth  had  opened  to  afford  him  a  hiding- 
place. 

A  thrill  of  horror  passed  through  the  frame  of 
Felix,  ami  a  cry  of  painful  surprise  broke  from  his 
lips.  Without  waiting  one  moment  to  reflect  on 
the  important  charge  confided  to  his  care,  but 
yielding  to  his  natural  impatient  and  impulsive 
spirit,  he  dashed  after  the  young  thief;  and  tremb- 
ling with  excitement  and  terror,  stopped  not  until 
he  reached  a  cluster  of  dilapidated  houses,  in  a 
court  whence  all  further  procedure  was  forbidden. 
There  he  stood  before  the  unwashed  doors,  without 
being  able  to  discover  which  the  boy  had  entered, 
38* 


196     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

if,  indeed,  he  had  entered  any :  so  quick  was  his 
movement,  it  was  impossible  to  tell.  The  cry  of 
"stop  thief,"  had  brought  the  multitude  to  the 
spot ;  but,  after  following  a  little  way,  they  had 
turned  off  in  another  direction ;  and  the  gradually 
decreasing  tumult  gave  evidence  that  they  were 
either  entirely  off  the  track,  or  else  had  lost 
interest  in  the  pursuit. 

Felix  stood,  as  we  have  said,  irresolute ;  he  was 
certain  he  had  seen  the  boy  turn  down  this  street, 
but  where  had  he  vanished  ?  the  houses  seemed  for 
the  most  part  to  be  uninhabited,  and  although 
himself  had  followed  closely  on  the  young  culprit's 
heels,  he  had  seen  no  door  open  to  receive  him. 
He  was  about  to  turn  back,  and  had  already  moved 
a  few  steps  backward,  when  a  slight  creaking,  as 
though  some  one  was  cautiously  opening  a  door, 
caused  him  once  more  to  look  round.  He  was 
himself  rather  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  one  of  the 
houses,  but  he  saw  a  head  gradually  protruding 
itself  from  the  one  next  him,  stretching  forth  as 
if  anxiously  peering  about  to  discover  if  the  men- 
aced danger  was  past.  Quick  as  thought,  Felix 
rushed  to  the  opening  door ;  and  as  he  forced 
himself  through  the  small  crevice,  for  the  boy 
within  contested  his  entrance  by  pushing  against  it 
with  all  his  might,  and  pressing  his  hands  within 
both  his  own,  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  hoarse  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  197 

broken  with  emotion,  "Eugene,  have  I  found  you, 
and  in  such  a  place !" 

"  Felix !"  said  the  other,  half  frightened,  half 
joyful ;  "  Oh  !  but  I  am  glad  you  have  come  !  we 
can  keep  together  now,  for  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
leave  me.  0,  what  hard,  hard  times  I  have  had ! 
But  come,  let  us  go  up  to  my  room  in  the  attic. 
Happily,  old  Simon  is  not  at  home  just  now,  so  I 
can  tell  you  all  that  has  happened ;  but  I  dare  not 
be  seen  in  the  street,  at  present." 

It  now,  for  the  first  time,  occurred  to  our  friend 
Felix  in  what  manner  Eugene  had  made  himself 
master  of  the  boy's  watch.  Forgetful  of  his 
errand,  forgetful  of  his  own  nearly  accomplished 
hopes,  he  let  the  absorbing  interest  he  felt  in  the 
unhappy  boy's  fate,  stand  in  the  way  of  his  duty, 
and  he  inquired,  anxiously — 

"  But  Eugene,  why  did  you  take  the  boy's  watch 
from  him  ?  do  you  know  him,  and  was  it  only  to 
plague  him  ?  If  so,  it  was  wrong.  It  is  wrong  to 
cause  any  one  needless  anxiety ;  and  now  come, 
let  us  go  to  him  ;  you  surely  did  not  mean  any 
thing  but  a  joke,  and  will  certainly  give  it  back." 

Eugene  looked  down  at  the  black  and  rag-strewn 
floor,  and  a  deep  blush  overspread  his  features. 
"I  will  tell  you  all,  Felix,"  he  said,  after  an  em- 
barrassing silence.  "  I  will  tell  you  all  the  truth, 
bad  as  it  is ;  perhaps  you  can  help  me  to  escape 
from  this  vile  old  Jew,  into  whose  power  I  have 


198  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

fallen.  Oh  !  I  thought  Dietrich  hard,  but  he  was 
kindness  itself,  in  comparison  with  this  cruel  man. 
But  come  up  to  my  garret ;  no  one  will  hear  us 
there." 

Felix  followed  him  in  silence,  his  astonishment 
being  too  great  for  words.  Having  reached  the 
miserable  spot,  a  more  filthy  than  which  could  not 
be  imagined,  which  Eugene  called  his  chamber,  he 
commenced  his  story. 

"  On  the  day  when  Dietrich  took  me  to  the  far- 
mer, I  felt  that  I  would  rather  die  than  live  in  his 
service  ;  but  then,  Felix,  you  know  we  cannot  die 
just  when  we  want  to.  But  what  a  home  that  was, 
with  scarce  enough  to  eat,  and  such  rough,  hard 
work  !  I  complained  no  little  ;  but  what  good  did 
that  do,  since  no  one  heard  me,  or  if  they  did,  no 
one  minded  me  ?  for  they  did  not  understand  my 
langu:ige,  and  had  no  sympathy  for  me.  Dietrich 
always  gave  us  plenty  to  eat :  but  I  was  not  going 
to  work  for  this  surly  boor,  and  so  I  told  him;  but 
I  found  when  I  did  not  work  I  got  nothing  to  eat, 
so  at  length  I  had  to  yield,  and  set  to  in  good 
earnest.  He  was  building  a  new  stable  for  his 
cows,  and  I  had  to  carry  all  the  stone  and  lime. 
Think  of  that,  Felix;  I,  a  gentleman's  son,  to  wait 
thus  upon  a  rude  peasant's  bidding  !  At  night,  I 
had  to  watch  the  horses  in  the  fields,  to  keep  them 
from  straying ;  and  I  wonder  I  did  not  get  my 
Jeath,  by  lying  on  the  damp  grass." 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  199 

"I  had  as  hard  work  as  that,"  said  Felix. 

"  But  the  worst  of  all  was,"  continued  Eugene, 
"  the  farmer's  son  was  the  wildest,  worst  boy  that 
ever  lived ;  and  who,  when  I  complained,  or  cried, 
always  mocked  me.  My  hands  swelled,  and  be- 
came stiff,  from  the  unaccustomed  usage  they  got; 
they  pained  me,  and  often  bled;  and  yet  this  cruel 
young  man  beat  me  one  day  unmercifully,  because 
I  let  a  heavy  dish  fall,  as  it  burnt  me.  Oh !  but 
I  was  glad  it  broke,  and  spilled  that  horrid  beer- 
soup  !  I  had  to  bear  his  tyranny  patiently,  for  if 
I  endeavored  in  the  least  to  defend  myself,  he 
complained  to  his  father;  and  as  he  could  not 
understand  my  excuses,  I  then  got  two  whippings 
instead  of  one.  I  now  wished  for  nothing  so  much 
as  an  opportunity  to  play  this  fellow  a  sly  trick, 
just  to  provoke  him." 

"You  were  wrong  there,  Eugene,"  interrupted 
Felix ;  "  it  is  commanded  that  we  '  stir  not  up 
anger.'  '  Eugene  took  no  notice  of  the  reproof, 
but  went  on. 

"  Yusuff,  for  that  was  the  name  of  my  tormen- 
tor, had  a  pigeon-house  ;  and  it  was  his  greatest 
pleasure  every  morning  to  visit  and  feed  his 
pigeons.  Oh !  but  I  would  have  been  glad  to 
upset  the  ladder  as  he  mounted,  could  I  have  done 
so  without  being  seen !  I  had  seen  a  marten 
several  times,  in  the  evening,  prowling  about  the 
pigeon-roost,  and  remarked  how  carefully  Yusuff 


200  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

had  fastened  the  latticed  door;  for  lie  had  seen  the 
murderous  fellow,  as  well  as  myself.  One  night,  I 
crept  from  the  hay-loft  where  I  slept,  and  opened 
the  door  which  he  had  taken  such  pains  to  secure  ; 
and  rejoiced  to  think  what  an  outcry  he  would 
make  in  the  morning,  when  he  saw  the  destruction 
of  his  favorites.  But  as  I  was  coming  down  the 
ladder,  after  accomplishing  my  purpose,  old  Bern, 
the  watch-dog,  began  to  bark,  which  awakened  my 
master ;  who  got  up,  and  saw  what  I  was  about 
from  the  window." 

"How  could  you  do  so?"  asked  Felix;  "it 
surely  did  not  serve  to  make  your  lot  any  better." 

"  No,  that  it  did  not,  but  a  great  deal  worse ; 
for  the  next  morning,  on  seeing  the  havoc  made 
among  the  pigeons,  suspicion  fell  upon  me  at  once  ; 
and  after  giving  me  an  unmerciful  beating,  my 
master  put  me  into  a  sort  of  dark  cell,  used  for 
storing  potatoes,  and  other  vegetables,  in  winter. 
A  pitcher  of  water,  and  some  coarse,  black  bread, 
just  enough  to  keep  me  from  starving,  was  given 
me ;  and  here  I  had  to  pass  four  dreary  days  in 
perfect  darkness.  Yusuff  used  to  look  in  at  me, 
sometimes,  asking  me  how  I  liked  my  new  lodg- 
ings, and  always  mocking  or  pelting  me  with  dirt; 
while  he  stood  devouring  some  dainty  morsel  before 
my  eyes,  only  to  make  my  mouth  water,  and  my 
wretched  fare  seem  more  distasteful.  I  knew  that 
when  I  should  be  released  from  this  prison,  my  lot 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  201 

would  be  harder  than  ever ;  and  so  I  resolved  to 
flee  at  the  first  opportunity.  The  day  of  my  deli- 
verance came  at  last.  I  saved  my  bread  as  much 
as  possible,  and  filled  my  pockets  with  potatoes, 
which  I  buried  under  the  hay,  after  I  was  per- 
mitted to  leave  my  cell ;  I  waited  hour  after  hour 
for  the  wished-for  chance  to  wander  I  cared  not 
where,  so  that  I  was  but  free.  On  the  evening  of 
the  second  day,  I  was  ordered  to  take  the  horses 
to  the  meadow,  and  remain  there  with  them.  My 
heart  trembled  with  joy  as  I  hid  the  stores  I  had 
saved,  in  my  pockets,  and  in  the  breast  of  my 
jacket.  Could  it  be  possible,  I  thought,  that 
freedom  was  so  near  ?  Yusuff  followed  me  some 
distance,  and  amused  himself  by  setting  his  dog 
upon  me ;  it  was  an  ugly,  ill-natured  brute,  by  no 
means  friendly  with  me ;  and  seizing  me  by  my 
leg,  bit  me  so  severely  that  I  screamed  with  pain. 
Yusuff  laughed  as  if  ready  to  kill  himself:  while 
his  dog  held  fast  to  me,  not  letting  go  his  hold  until 
his  master  called  him  off.  Ah!  Felix;  I  now  know 
how  cruel  it  is  to  worry  the  defenceless !  If  I  live 
to  get  back  to  my  parents,  I  will  never  do  it 
again." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  But  how  did 
you  get  off  at  last?"  asked  his  friend;  who,  ab- 
sorbed in  Eugene's  narrative,  forgot  how  time  was 
passing,  and  that  the  letter  entrusted  to  his  care 
had  not  been  mailed. 


202  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

"  I  had  no  sooner  reached  the  border  of  the 
wood,  than  I  left  the  horses  to  themselves ;  and, 
plunging  deep  into  the  forest,  I  ran  I  scarce  knew 
where.  The  hope  of  obtaining  my  freedom,  as 
well  as  the  dread  of  being  overtaken,  gave  me  new 
strength  ;  arid  carefully  avoiding  villages,  of  which 
I  saw  several,  I  kept,  during  the  greater  part  of 
the  nigl^,  on  the  skirts  of  the  forest.  Towards 
morning,  I  came  to  a  half-extinguished  fire,  kin- 
dled, probably,  by  soldiers,  or  some  wandering 
gipsies,  the  night  before;  for  straw  and  half-picked 
bones,  lying  about,  showed  that  the  party  had  not 
long  left  the  place.  I  scraped  the  embers  toge- 
ther, and  heaping  some  dry  rubbish  upon  them,  I 
roasted  my  potatoes,  and  so  had  food  to  last  me  all 
the  next  day.  Oh  !  how  I  dreaded  being  taken  ! 
On  the  third  day,  when  I  began  to  feel  pretty 
secure,  my  provisions  gave  out,  and  I  was  forced 
to  beg.  It  was  indeed  but  little  I  received,  and  I 
scarcely  know  how  I  got  to  the  neighborhood  of 
this  city,  which  I  was  not  able  to  reach,  being 
entirely  exhausted.  I  threw  myself  down,  in 
despair,  under  an  oak  by  the  highway ;  I  wanted 
to  die,  for  I  did  not  care  much  what  became  of  me. 
Tho  setting  sun,  however,  warned  me  that  it  was 
time  to  seek  a  better  place  to  pass  the  night  in, 
than  on  the  road-side.  I  had  not  yet  risen  to  pro- 
ceed, when  I  heard  the  rattling  of  wheels.  I 
looked  up,  and  saw  the  queerest  old  carriage, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  203 

Felix  !  It  stopped  ;  and  a  still  queerer  old  Jew  (1 
knew  him  for  one  by  his  beard)  got  out,  and  came 
quite  to  the  spot  where  I  was  lying.  He  asked  me 
some  questions  in  Polish;  but  as  I  never  would  try 
to  learn  that  horrid  language,  I  could  not  under- 
stand one  word.  I  only  shook  my  head,  but  I 
suppose  he  knew  what  that  meant;  for  he  then 
enquired,  in  bad  German,  'whose  boy  I  was,  and 
where  I  came  from  ?'  ' 

Our  young  readers,  perhaps,  will  wonder  that  so 
good  a  lad  as  we  have  represented  Felix  to  be, 
should  so  far  have  forgotten  himself,  and  his  obli- 
gations to  the  friendly  merchant,  as  to  have  neg- 
lected the  delivery  of  the  important  letter.  The 
hour  at  which  the  mail  was  to  close  had  long  since 
passed,  and  the  packet  still  remained,  unthought 
of,  in  his  bosom.  Strange  that  he  who  had  so 
lately  recalled,  and  repented  of  his  fault,  should 
so  soon  have  forgotten  the  necessity  of  constant 
watchfulness ;  but  such  is  human  nature.  Virtue 
thrives  best  under  the  pressure  of  adversity;  and 
it  is  often  sadly  the  case,  that  the  moment  that 
pressure  is  removed,  its  salutary  effects  vanish  with 
it.  The  recollection  of  all  that  he  had  suffered  on 
account  of  not  attending  to  the  admonition  of  his 
parents,  was  lost  in  his  impatience  to  hear  the  rest 
of  Eugene's  adventures.  The  cure  was  properly 
begun,  but  alas !  not  perfected ;  and  he  now  begged 
him  to  proceed. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

"Although  the  appearance  of  this  man  was 
every  way  repulsive,  his  matted  red  hair,  and  the 
knavish  twinkle  of  his  eyes,  filled  me  with  dread; 
but  oh !  when  he  began  to  speak  German,  Felix, 
was  not  I  glad  ?  Don't  you  remember  how  I  once 
despised  it,  and  now — oh !  how  sweetly  it  sounded ! 
I  could  not  help  telling  him  everything  —  I  was 
so  glad  to  have  some  one  to  talk  to.  I  told  him 
who  my  parents  were,  and  how  I  had  been  carried 
off  from  my  home  ;  nor  did  I  conceal  where  I  had 
lived  last,  neither  the  trick  I  had  played  on  Yusuff, 
nor  our  subsequent  quarrel.  A  malicious  smile 
distorted  his  ugly  features,  making  them  yet  more 
hideous ;  and  helping  me  to  arise,  he  said,  with 
disgusting  familiarity — 

"'My  dear  young  gentleman,  make  yourself 
easy ;  I  will  take  you  to  your  parents.  Get  up, 
now,  into  my  waggon ;  I  have  provisions  there  — 
good  bread  and  meat  —  and  you  may  eat  your  fill, 
for  you  are  weak  from  long  fasting.' 

"  I  did  as  he  bade  me ;  and  diving  down  among 
some  straw  which  lay  in  the  bottom,  he  brought 
forth  a  basket  containing  eatables.  They  were 
good;  and  as  I  devoured  them  with  an  appetite 
made  ravenous  by  long-continued  hunger,  the  old 
waggon  moved  on,  and  when  it  was  quite  dark,  we 
came  hither.  Next  morning,  all  was  changed.  I 
had  a  miserable  breakfast,  and  the  horrid  old  Jew 
addressed  me  as  his  servant ;  he  also  told  me  that 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     205 

he  was  a  dealer  in  old  clothes,  and  from  this  time 
forth  it  must  be  my  business  to  brush  them  up,  as 
well  as  to  scour  all  the  rusty  brass  and  copper,  of 
which  there  was  a  goodly  collection,  so  as  to  make 
it  sell.  In  short,  I,  a  nobleman's  son,  was  to  do 
all  this  dirty  work ;  and  when  I  told  him  I  would 

not Felix,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  him! 

Dietrich's  worst  mood  was  mildness  in  comparison. 
If  my  breakfast  was  bad,  the  dinner  was  no  better 
—  mouldy  bread,  and  raw  onions;  think  of  onions 
— vulgar  things,  that  I  never  could  bear.  I  tried 
to  remind  him  of  his  promise  to  send  me  back  to 
my  parents  —  that  they  would  reward  him  richly 
if  he  did  so ;  but  he  only  laughed  mockingly,  as 
he  said  — 

"'You  do  not  think  that  I  believe  that  tale, 
surely.  You  look  like  a  nobleman's  son,  in  your 
sheep-skin  jacket !  If  you  are,  you  have  no  doubt 
played  them  some  trick,  as  you  did  at  the  farmer's 
where  you  lived  last ;  so  that  most  likely  they  are 
glad  to  be  rid  of  you.  When  you  found  me,  you 
found  your  master ;  and  if  you  do  not  obey  me,  I 
will  take  you  back  to  farmer  Woida,  where  the 
right  sort  of  reward  will  await  you,  for  leaving  the 
horses  in  the  wood,  from  whence  they  strayed  off, 
or  were  stolen  ;  at  any  rate,  the  farmer  has  lost 
them,  as  I  heard  when  I  passed  through  the  dis- 
trict. You  are  now  in  my  power,  and  shall  not 
escape,  tricky  as  you  are.  I  will  keep  you  confined 


206  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

as  I  would  an  animal,  until  YOU  have  become  per- 
fectly tame ;  then  you  shall  carry  the  pack  for  me 
aa  I  go  through  the  country  trading ;  for  I  am 
getting  old  and  weak,  and  need  a  stout,  cunning 
lad,  like  yourself,  to  help  me.' 

"  You  may  imagine  my  dismay,  as  well  as  my 
rage,  when  I  listened  to  these  words,  which  showed 
rne  how  firmly  I  was  in  the  power  of  this  hateful 
man.  Oh  !  how  I  abhorred  him  !  how  I  spurned 
the  abominable  food  he  would  have  forced  me  to 
eat !  but  at  last,  hunger  obliged  me  to  yield. 

"'I  will  readily  give  you  better,'  said  he,  one 
day,  as  he  laughed  at  the  faces  I  made  in  token 
of  my  disgust,  'when  you  shall  have  learned  how 
to  earn  it.  But  you  must  be  shown  how,  as  well 
as  to  get  yourself  some  good  clothes.  Let  me  hear 
what  your  nobleman's  education  has  taught  you.' 

"  With  great  reluctance,  I  told  him  what  rny 
course  of  instruction  had  been,  but  that  lately  I 
had  been  learning  nothing  but  hard  work ;  but  he 
shook  his  head,  and  mocked  at  all  I  named. 

"  *  Such  knowledge  as  that  is  too  slim — it  is  not 
enough  to  coax  a  dog  away  from  the  fire,'  said  he, 
contemptuously;  'if  you  could  cipher  up  figures 
quickly,  aftd  write  a  good  hand,  you  could  soon 
make  something.' 

"I  promised  him  I  would  make  the  attempt;  in 
short,  I  said  I  would  do  whatever  he  wished,  rather 
than  wear  such  horrid  clothes  as  those  I  now  wore, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  207 

and  live  on  those  offensive  onions.  Simon,  for  that 
was  the  old  Jew's  name,  now  brought  me  a  whole 
pile  of  account-books,  which  he  said  I  must  copy 
to  look  like  the  originals.  He  waked  me  at  sun- 
rise, and  kept  me  writing,  or  furbishing  up  old 
clothes,  all  day ;  but  for  the  most  part  writing  or 
working  at  figures,  so  that  my  fingers  were  fairly 
benumbed,  by  evening.  But  with  all  my  endea- 
vors, I  could  not  please  him ;  he  found  fault  with 
my  writing  and  calculations,  caring  little  for  the 
pain  and  trouble  it  cost  me,  saying  it  would  have 
to  be  a  great  deal  better  done  before  I  could  hope 
to  make  much  from  it.  But  after  this,  I  did  not 
stick  to  it — it  was  entirely  too  much  trouble ;  and 
I  begged  Simon  only  to  give  me  some  employment 
in  the  open  air,  for  the  confinement  in  this  dull, 
filthy  room,  was  utterly  unbearable ;  and  besides, 
I  was  really  growing  sick  from  breathing  the  pes- 
tilent odor  issuing  from  the  heaps  of  old  clothes 
which  were  piled  up,  and  surrounded  me  like  a 
wall,  so  that  not  a  breath  of  pure  air  ever  reached 
me,  as  I  sat  at  work. 

"  ll  will  do  well  by  you,'  answered  Simon  to  my 
request ;  '  but  you  must  also  do  something  for 
yourself;  and  if  you  are  spry  and  industrious,  you 
can  soon  save  up  a  sum  to  enable  you  to  go  home 
to  your  parents ;  that  is,  if  you  are  not  telling  a 
lie  about  them.  You  must,  however,  help  me  in 
the  getting  off  of  these  old  clothes ;  for  I  am  a 
39* 


208     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

poor  man,  and  cannot  afford  to  feed  you  for 
nothing.  But  if  you  won't,  it  is  all  one  to  me 
whether  you  ever  get  home  or  not.'  '  Only  tell 
me,'  interrupted  I,  'how  I  shall  earn  money  enough 
to  take  me  from  here — I  care  not  by  what  means  I 
get  it,  only  so  that  I  have  enough  to  carry  me  to 
my  country  and  home.'  Simon  answered  me  — 
a-a-you  see,  Felix,  a-a-I  was  so  very  hungry — and 
I  wanted  to  see  my  parents  so  badly  —  you  are  so 
queer,  Felix,  I  do  not  like  to  tell  you — but  I  must. 
In  short,  Simon  said  that  there  were  a  great  many 
rich  people  here  in  this  city,  who  had  more  money 
than  they  knew  what  to  do  with ;  and  they  could 
very  well  afford  to  spare  some  of  it  to  those  who 
were  poorer.  But  the  country  was  a  better  place 
to  begin  such  work  —  he  would  take  me  to  the 
country  —  people  there  left  their  doors  open,  par- 
ticularly kitchen  doors,  where  he  had  often  seen 
silver  spoons  and  other  such  things  lying  about  — 
there  was  nothing  needed  but  to  be  sly  and  quick, 
all  that  I  acquired  in  this  way  should  be  my  own 
— he  would  save  or  sell  it  for  me  until  I  had  a  sum 
large  enough  to  bear  the  expenses  of  a  journey 
into  Germany." 

"Did  he  mean  to  teach  you  to  steal?"  inter- 
rupted Felix,  starting  up  in  horror,  as  Eugene, 
flushing  with  shame,  stopped  to  recover  his  breath. 
"  Ah,  yes ;  and  you  have  only  too  well  profited  by 
the  lessons,  as  I  myself  witnessed  scarce  an  hour 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  209 

ago.  How  could  you  listen  to,  or  follow  such  in- 
iquitous counsels?  how  could  you  think  God  would 
favor  the  end  to  be  obtained  by  such  sinful  means  ? 
My  poor,  poor  Eugene,  into  what  miserable  cir- 
cumstances have  you  fallen  !" 

"  After  a  time,  according  to  his  promise,  Simon 
gave  me  better  clothes,  and  occasionally  Avarm 
food,"  continued  Eugene,  his  voice  choked  with 
sobs,  and  entirely  cast  down  by  the  speech  of 
Felix ;  "  but  he  insinuated  that  I  should  have  still 
more  if  I  brought  him  something  worth  while. 
Pewter  spoons,  keys,  and  such  things  as  I  picked 
up  —  for,  Felix,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  steal 
silver,  although  I  tried." 

"  The  principle  was  as  bad  in  the  taking  of  the 
one  as  the  other,"  said  Felix. 

Eugene,  not  heeding  the  interruption,  went  on : 
"  Simon  said  these  things  were  not  worth  the 
trouble  of  putting  away ;  '  You  will  have  to  stay  a 
long  time  with  me,  if  you  do  not  make  some  better 
hauls  than  this,'  was  his  mocking  reproach,  as  I 
brought  him  a  handkerchief  I  had  taken.  As  I, 
looked  from  the  window  I  saw  that  silly  boy 
parading  his  watch ;  Simon  had  gone  out,  and 
forgot  to  lock  me  up  as  usual.  'Ah,'  thought  I, 
'  this  watch  shall  be  the  means  of  helping  me  out 
of  this  horrible  place,'  and  so  I  —  Felix  you  know 
the  rest." 

"Alas!  yes,"  answered  Felix;  and  as  he  took 


210  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

the  hand  of  Eugene,  added  in  a  tone  of  entreaty, 
"  but  you  will  not  keep  the  watch — you  dare  not ; 
neither  must  you  remain  longer  with  this  bad  man 
who  glories  in  teaching  you  to  sin.  Come  with  me 
— the  good  merchant  in  whose  house  I  have  found 
a  home,  will  take  you  too.  I  will  tell  him  who  you 
are ;  and  only  think  —  in  eight  days  we  will  both 
be  in  Silesia.  I  am  too  happy  —  and  now  come 
quickly  —  I  have  a  letter  here,  containing  money, 
which  I  must  put  in  the  post-office,  and  then  we 
will  both  go  to  Mr.  Berndt." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  Eugene  to  the  door  of  the 
small  garret-room  in  which  they  had  been  speaking, 
admitting  light  only  from  a  four-paned  window, 
and  filled  with  piles  of  old  clothes  and  worm-eaten 
furniture ;  let  the  day  be  ever  so  bright  without, 
there  always,  as  Eugene  had  said,  existed  here  a 
twilight  gloom,  as  though  the  dark  spirits  that 
within  its  unhallowed  walls  had  dreamed  over  plans 
of  wickedness,  had  left  a  shadow  on  the  spot,  which 
even  the  sunlight  could  not  illumine.  It  was  a 
long  and  narrow  chamber ;  and  objects  at  the 
further  end  were  entirely  involved  in  misty  obscurity 
— the  fugitive  from  justice — the  concealed  assassin 
— might  there  be  shrouded  without  suspicion,  even 
in  the  presence  of  its  occupants ;  and  it  now  con- 
tained a  listener,  of  whose  vicinity  the  boys  had 
no  idea. 

They  had  nearly  reached  the  door  of  the  dwell- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  211 

ing,  when  Eugene  suddenly  uttered  a  loud  scream, 
for  at  that  moment  Simon  stood  beside  him,  and 
laid  his  heavy  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"  So,  so,"  he  croaked  forth  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "I 
have  spoiled  a  nice  plot.  A  conspiracy,  it  seems ; 
you  were  going  to  run  away  from  me.  Well,  you 
shall  go,  but  it  will  be  to  prison ;  that  is  the  only 
place  to  hold  young  thieves.  And  as  for  you,  my 
young  preacher  of  morality,"  he  continued,  turn- 
ing to  Felix,  "you  must  stay  with  me  in  his  place 
—  you  will  have  a  fine  opportunity  of  proving  the 
strength  of  the  foundation  you  have  laid  for  your 
charming  edifice.  But  in  the  first  place,  I  feel  it 
my  duty  to  take  care  of  your  property  whilst  under 
my  roof;  and  sol  Avill  at  once  relieve  the  possessor 
of  his  watch,  and  you,  my  young  hero,  of  your 
letter,  which  you  say  contains  money." 

He  was  a  tall,  thin,  but  muscular  man,  and  as 
he  spoke  he  seized  hold  on  Felix,  and  notwith- 
standing he  made  stout  resistance,  he  soon  succeeded 
in  ridding  him  of  his  packet ;  and  dragging  him 
back  to  the  gloomy  room  which  they  had  just  left, 
and  where  Eugene  followed,  he  flung  him  into  a 
corner ;  and  having  locked  the  door,  went  laugh- 
ing down  stairs,  his  heavy  tread  on  the  stone  steps 
ringing  the  knell  of  those  hopes  that  one  moment 
before  had  existed  so  brightly  in  the  hearts  of 
those  he  left  behind. 

There  they  stood  gazing  upon  each  other — those 


212  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

unhappy  boys,  more  wretched  than  ever,  shut  out 
from  all  human  assistance,  and  without  any  chance 
of  escape  from  that  dark,  forlorn,  and  noisome 
room,  over  whose  portal  it  might  have  been  written, 
"  Hope  comes  not  here  !" 

As  the  day  passed  over,  and  Felix  did  not  return, 
the  evening  came,  and  brought  no  tidings  of  the 
missing  boy,  anxiety  was  awakened  in  the  house- 
hold of  the  good  merchant,  which  was  afterwards 
changed  into  suspicion.  The  boy  had  very  will- 
ingly consented  to  carry  the  letter  which  he  knew 
contained  money,  to  the  post-office ;  he  had  been 
seen  near  the  door  by  a  person  who  knew  him ; 
and  it  was  equally  certain  he  had  not  delivered  the 
packet,  since  he  had  no  opportunity. 

The  old  distrust  of  Felix  being  a  deceiver  began 
once  more  to  take  possession  of  the  merchant's 
mind — it  was  so  easy  to  believe,  that,  now  so  near 
the  contemplated  journey  into  Silesia,  where  his 
imposture  was  sure  to  be  made  known,  he  had 
deliberately  taken  himself  off,  now  that  he  had  a 
large  sum  of  money  in  his  possession. 

But  all  search  (and  nothing  was  left  undone,) 
proved  fruitless.  Felix  had  been  seen  running 
down  the  suspicious  street  with  every  mark  of  un- 
common anxiety  ;  but  where  he  found,  or  was  likely 
to  find  admittance,  no  one  could  even  conjecture. 

Vexed  to  be  disappointed,  and  mortified  at  being 
so  successfully  deceived  by  one  whom  he  had 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  213 

begun  to  love  so  well,  Mr.  Berndt  set  out  by  him- 
self on  his  journey  into  Silesia,  and  gave  up  all 
intention  of  enquiring  after  the  Lindenburg  family, 
firmly  believing  that  none  such  existed ;  and, 
besides,  he  hated  to  speak  the  name,  inasmuch  as 
it  served  only  to  remind  him  how  he  had  been  out- 
witted. 

The  police,  however,  indefatigably  endeavored 
to  trace  out  our  young  friend  —  advertisements 
appeared  in  the  papers — notices  were  pasted  upon 
the  corners  of  the  streets,  describing  his  person, 
and  denouncing  him  as  having  committed  a  rob- 
bery— all  of  which  he  happily  remained  ignorant, 
It  was  a  knowledge  which  would  have  added 
greatly  to  the  pains  of  his  imprisonment  —  bad 
enough  to  be  shut  up  in  such  a  place  as  he  was, 
and  in  the  power  of  such  a  man  as  Simon,  the 
Jew,  without  this. 

Under  these  circumstances,  this  roguish  per- 
sonage concluded  it  his  best  plan  to  absent  himself 
for  a  time  from  the  city,  himself  having  been  fre- 
quently an  object  of  suspicion  to  the  police ;  but 
although  his  tumble-down  looking  dwelling  had  so 
often  been  watched  as  the  place  where  many  a  deed 
of  darkness  was  perpetrated,  this  wily  sharper 
conducted  his  movements  so  cautiously,  that  he 
never  could  be  detected.  With  his  small,  twinkling 
eyes,  blinking  incessantly  to  the  right  or  left,  he 
went  in  and  out  of  his  narrow  street  with  the 


214  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

stealthy  pace  of  a  cat.  No  one  heard  his  footsteps 
until  he  was  close  beside  them ;  and  many  averred 
that  his  tall,  but  crouching  form  cast  no  shadow. 
When  danger  came  so  close  as  to  be  dreaded,  his 
occupation  as  a  pedlar  gave  him  an  excuse  for 
leaving  the  city,  which  he  did ;  driving  on  his 
successful  trade  in  some  remote  province,  where  he 
was  not  known. 

When  he  opened  the  letter  which  he  had  taken 
from  Felix,  he  found  the  enclosed  sum  very  con- 
siderable ;  and  concluding  from  this,  as  well  as  the 
reward  offered  for  his  apprehension,  that  the  search 
was  not  likely  soon  to  be  relaxed,  he  resolved  to  be 
on  the  safe  side,  and  not  only  retain  the  merchant's 
money,  but  receive  a  ransom  for  the  boys  when  he 
should  have  taken  them  into  Silesia,  to  their  pa- 
rents ;  for  he  no  longer  doubted  Eugene's  having 
told  him  the  truth  of  his  being  a  nobleman's  son, 
since  Felix,  whom  he  was  too  shrewd  an  observer 
to  believe  a  knave,  had  corroborated  his  statement. 
Exulting,  therefore,  in  the  chance  of  money-making 
which  had  so  unexpectedly  arisen,  he  amused  him- 
self by  watching  the  officers,  whilst  they  watched 
himself.  He  shut  the  boys  up,  so  that  they  could 
not  escape  (for  his  dwelling  afforded  more  places 
for  concealment  than  those  we  have  mentioned), 
secreted  the  watch  and  money  taken  from  them  in 
a  vault  in  his  cellar,  where,  notwithstanding  his 
seeming  poverty,  rich  treasure  was  concealed ;  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  215 

taking  up  his  bag,  he  slung  it  over  his  shoulder, 
and  sung  out  "old  clothes !"  in  every  street  in  the 
city. 

As  no  one  had  been  seen  to  enter  the  dwelling, 
for  Simon  had  means  of  egress  known  only  to 
himself,  the  police,  deceived  by  the  old  man's 
apparent  indifference,  relaxed  much  of  their  vigi- 
lance ;  thus  giving  him  the  opportunity  he  wanted, 
to  remove  his  prisoners  beyond  all  reach  of  disco- 
very. For  many  days,  he  had  hidden  them  in  one 
of  the  dark  nooks  of  the  garret  before  described ; 
but,  anxious  as  he  was  for  their  removal,  he  did 
not  dare  attempt  it  until  he  saw  that  the  coast  was 
perfectly  clear. 

A  night,  so  wild  and  stormy  that  it  had  driven 
all  who  had  homes  to  seek  their  shelter,  and  suffi- 
cient to  excuse  the  messengers  of  the  law  from 
pursuing  their  d'iscovery,  even  if  they  had  made 
one,  was  the  time  chosen  for  this  purpose.  His 
old  waggon  had  been  got  ready  in  the  morning ; 
and,  entering  it  alone,  he  drove  out  of  the  city, 
only  to  return  by  another  way,  where  he  left  it  at 
a  place,  and  in  the  care  of  one  to  whom  himself 
and  his  movements  were  well  known.  He  had  a 
brother-in-law  who  was  a  cabinet-maker,  and  who 
lived  in  a  distant  province  on  the  very  borders  of 
Russia;  and  his  taking  two  boys  there  could  create 
no  suspicion,  even  if  the  police  advertisements  had 
reached  that  remote  spot ;  since  it  might  be  sup- 
40 


216  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

posed  that  he  intended  to  place  them  as  appren- 
tices to  the  business.  Little  of  the  truth  could  be 
gained  from  themselves,  since  Eugene  could  never 
learn  to  speak  Polish  so  as  to  be  understood ;  and 
although  Felix  succeeded  much  better,  it  would 
avail  but  little,  since  out  of  the  family  of  his 
brother-in-law,  who  was  a  German  Jew,  they  would 
hear  little  except  Russian  spoken. 

He  was  not  a  little  surprised,  however,  when 
Felix  utterly  refused  to  leave  the  garret-chamber. 
The  boy,  perfectly  assured  of  his  own  integrity, 
had  no  idea  but  that  others  were  so  also.  He  had 
no  doubt  that  search  would  be  made  for  him  as 
soon  as  missed ;  but  never  dreamed  that  he  would 
be  suspected  of  theft.  Ail  the  time  of  his  impri- 
sonment, he  had  listened  with  characteristic  impa- 
tience to  every  noise  that  approached  from  the 
street;  believing  it  some  one  coming  to  procure  his 
liberation.  He  therefore,  as  we  have  said,  de- 
clared his  resolution  not  to  leave  that  house,  or  the 
city,  without  making  an  outcry  that  should  be 
heard  ;  but  for  this  the  hoary  villain  was  prepared. 
He  drew  the  advertisement,  containing  a  descrip- 
tion of  our  hero's  person,  and  offering  a  reward  for 
his  apprehension,  from  his  pocket,  and  with  a  smile 
of  malicious  meaning,  opened  and  handed  it  to 
him  to  read;  stating,  at  the  same  time,  that  Eu- 
gene also  was  watched  by  the  police  for  having 
stolen  the  watch ;  arid  that  his  removing  them  at 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  217 

this  time  was  truly  an  act  of  intended  kindness, 
and  to  prevent  both  from  meeting  the  punishment 
threatened  by  the  law ;  which,  as  they  had  no 
witness  to  prove  their  innocence,  they  would  be 
sure  to  suffer. 

With  what  anguish  our  unlucky  hero  listened  to 
his  statement !  The  blood  chilled  round  his  heart 
at  the  reproach  thus  publicly  cast  upon  his  fair 
fame  —  denounced  and  followed  as  a  common  thief 
—  what  availed  either  resistance  or  resolution? 
He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  for  a  moment,  as 
if  in  mute  despair;  then,  mastering,  by  a  powerful 
effort,  the  emotion  that  attended  the  destruction  of 
the  long-cherished  hope  of  being  restored  to  his 
home,  now  so  nearly  accomplished,  he  rose  calmly, 
and  told  the  Jew  he  was  willing  to  go  wherever  he 
might  choose  to  lead.  Simon  smiled,  and  replied, 
"that  he  was  glad  to  see  him  at  last  brought  to 
reason ;  that  he  had  better  be  as  quiet  as  possible, 
since  the  least  noise  might  bring  the  police  upon 
them,  which  must  end  in  the  ruin  both  of  Eugene 
and  himself." 

Taking  his  trembling  companion  by  the  hand, 
our  hero  mechanically  followed  his  wily  conductor 
down  a  dark  back  stair ;  and  leaving  the  house  by 
a  different  door  than  that  which  they  had  entered, 
they  soon  gained  the  street.  Unheeding  the  storm 
which  was  furiously  raging,  Simon  led  his  charge 
throup-'i  little-used  thoroughfares,  and  narrow 


218  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

alleys,  groping  his  way  through  the  darkness,  but 
still  threading  his  winding  course  with  the  coolness 
of  one  accustomed  to  peril.  They  gained  the  spot 
where  he  had  left  his  waggon,  without  interruption, 
and  bidding  the  boys  get  in,  he  took  the  reins  in 
his  own  hands ;  when,  driving  off  at  a  rapid  rate, 
the  city  was  soon  left  behind. 

Eugene  gave  way,  as  usual,  to  a  violent  fit  of 
sobbing.  Felix  mourned  over  the  repetition  of  his 
fault,  which  had  once  more  led  to  such  untoward 
consequences ;  and  uttering  no  word  of  complaint, 
he  yielded  to  the  destiny  which  seemed  to  pursue 
him,  and  rendered  now  more  unbearable  by  the 
severity  of  his  self-reproach.  Poor  boy  !  he  had 
learned  some  hard  lessons,  but  there  were  some 
harder  ones  yet  to  come.  The  world's  teachings 
are  ever  severe,  and  they  end  but  with  life. 

We  must  now  part  company,  for  a  time,  with 
the  unhappy  young  travellers,  and  leave  them  to 
battle  with  the  fate  that  awaited  them  ;  although 
further  than  ever  from  the  accomplishment  of  their 
wishes,  and  though  their  hearts  grew  heavier  as 
each  mile  increased  the  distance  between  them  and 
their  Fatherland.  But  we  leave  them  in  company 
with  the  hoary  villain  who  had  them  in  his  power, 
to  journey  once  more,  through  rain  and  storm,  over 
the  vast  wild  plains  of  Poland ;  and  go  back  to 
Steinrode,  where  we  have  not  been  for  a  long 
time 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  219 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Hold  fast  thy  truth,  young  man;  leave  age  its  subtleties, 
And  gray-haired  policy  its  maze  of  falsehood." 

THINGS  were  greatly  altered  in  the  old  Linden- 
burg  Castle,  since  we  left  it  to  follow  the  fortunes 
of  Felix  and  Eugene.  Lady  Lindenburg  had  at 
first  borne  up  wonderfully  under  the  supposed 
death  of  her  darling  boy ;  but  the  not  finding 
either  of  the  bodies,  created  an  uncertainty  in  her 
mind,  producing  a  nervous  irritation  that  greatly 
affected  her  health.  She  felt  that  had  he  sickened 
and  died  in  her  presence,  she  could  have  borne  it. 
She  would  have  wept  a  mother's  tears,  as  she 
yielded  the  precious  dust  of  her  child  to  the  earth 
of  which  it  was  a  part ;  she  would  have  bowed  to 
the  stroke  of  bereavement,  coming  from  the  hand 
of  a  Father  who  never  chastises  but  in  love,  with 
the  submission  of  a  Christian  ;  but  she  could  not 
divest  herself  of  the  idea  that  he  might  be  living, 
since  they  had  no  proof  of  his  death  —  living  far 
away  from  her,  and  most  likely  suffering. 

She  knew  that  gipsies  had  sometimes  stolen  or 
decoyed  boys  away  —  that  they  were  carried  to 
remote  provinces,  or  put  on  board  of  ships,  to 
40* 


220  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN". 

serve  as  sailors  —  and  she  oftentimes,  when  the 
winds  blew  furiously  from  the  giant  hills,  and 
wailed  or  blustered  round  the  walls  of  the  stout 
old  castle,  would  think  of  her  vanished  boy,  and 
imagine  him  as  swinging  from  the  giddy  masts,  or 
tossing  on  the  raging  ocean. 

Baron  Lindenburg  had  left  nothing  undone  to 
find  out  if  the  boys  were  still  in  life.  Advertise- 
ments were  put  up  in  all  parts  of  the  kingdom  — 
messengers  sent  every  where  —  and  large  rewards 
offered  for  their  recovery,  or  at  least  some  clue  to 
their  fate. 

All  proved  vain  ;  and  himself  and  all  the  family, 
except  the  mother,  at  length  gave  him  up  as  dead, 
and  wore  not  only  outward  mourning,  but  were  op- 
pressed with  the  real  sorrow  of  heart,  and  such  as 
could  not  easily  be  laid  aside. 

Felix,  more  lively  and  playful  than  his  brother, 
was  missed  by  all — the  servants  not  less  than  those 
more  nearly  connected ;  and  when  the  first  Christ- 
mas after  his  departure  came  round,  no  festivities 
marked  the  season  —  it  would  have  recalled  too 
vividly  and  too  painfully  the  contrast  between  the 
present  and  the  latter. 

The  servants  at  first  remarked  that  an  unusual 
gloom  and  restlessness  hung  about  Amade,  the 
servant  of  Lady  Von  Grosse ;  and  as  they  talked 
the  sad  occurrence  over  beside  the  kitchen  fire,  at 
length  began  to  notice  that  he  would  not  join  in 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  221 

any  of  their  conjectures  as  to  the  sudden  dis- 
appearance of  the  boys,  hooting  at  Dolly's  belief 
in  the  Rubezahl,  but  oftener  maintaining  a  moody 
silence. 

In  less  than  a  month,  however,  his  term  of 
service  had  expired,  and  he  had  started  for  his  own 
country.  Since  then  no  tidings  of  him  had  been 
heard  by  any  one  at  Steinrode. 

At  length  Lady  Lindenburg's  health  became  so 
seriously  affected,  that  her  physician  declared 
change  of  scene  and  air  to  be  necessary  for  the 
prolongation  of  her  life  —  her  health,  he  doubted, 
was  lost  irrecoverably.  This  was  sad  news  for  her 
family  to  hear ;  they  could  not  bear  the  thought 
of  parting  with  her;  but  her  husband,  who  deemed 
no  sacrifice  too  great  to  be  made  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  such  a  valuable  life,  resolved  that  there 
should  be  no  separation  of  the  domestic  circle, 
until  made  by  the  irrevocable  mandate. 

A  sojourn  of  some  years  uuder  the  milder  climate 
of  Italy  was,  therefore,  decided  upon ;  and  circum- 
stances turned  up  most  unexpectedly,  to  furnish 
facilities  for  their  carrying  it  into  speedy  execution. 

While  his  heart  was  aching  under  the  pressure 
of  grief  occasioned  by  the  loss  of  his  son,  and 
foreboding  a  gloomy  issue  from  his  wife's  failing 
health,  Steinrode  —  the  beloved  Steinrode  —  had 
lost  its  beauty  and  its  charm  for  him ;  and  an 
eccentric  Englishman,  generally,  although  mis- 


222  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

takenly,  considered  misanthropic,  having  more 
money  than  he  knew  what  to  do  with,  had  "  come 
to  Germany,"  as  he  said,  "to  buy  an  estate,  im- 
prove the  condition  of  the  peasantry,  and  get  rid 
of  his  own  countrymen." 

Travelling  round  for  this  purpose,  he  was  pleased 
with  the  appearance  of  Steinrode ;  and  having 
heard,  in  the  course  of  his  questioning  in  the  vil- 
lage, of  the  proprietor's  going  abroad  with  his 
family  for  an  indefinite  time,  he  made  a  liberal 
proposal  to  purchase,  which  the  Baron,  scarcely 
taking  time  for  consideration,  hastily  accepted. 

Lady  Lindenburg  was  greatly  distressed  at  the 
idea  of  forever  parting  with  Steinrode,  so  long  the 
home  of  the  Baron's  ancestors,  but  her  husband 
urged,  that  to  them,  it  never  could  have  the  charm 
of  other  days.  Felix,  who  would  have  taken  his 
place  when  himself  was  no  longer  able  to  fill  it, 
was  gone  forever ;  and  Herman,  who  wished,  and 
was  capable  of  entering  upon  a  learned  profession, 
could  not  leave  his  books,  to  be  troubled  with 
farming. 

"At  any  rate,  wife,"  he  added,  "you  cannot 
recover  in  this  climate,  and  I  care  not  where  I  live 
so  as  you  only  are  spared  to  me." 

Lady  Lindenburg  had  nothing  more  to  say. 
The  bargain  was  concluded,  the  old  servants  were 
either  pensioned  off  in  the  village,  or  recommended 
to  the  notice  of  the  new  proprietor ;  and  Steinrode, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  223 

the  old  feudal  hold  on  whose  tower  the  Lindenburg 
banner  had  floated  for  generations,  passed  into  the 
hands  of  an  alien  and  a  stranger.  But  when  the 
time  for  departure  came,  it  was  not  without  great 
feelings  of  regret  that  the  Baron  prepared  to  leave 
the  home  of  his  ancestors.  Every  spot  was  visited, 
even  to  the  one  where  the  last  trace  of  his  son  was 
seen ;  and  it  was  only  these  sad  recollections  which, 
by  darkening  the  remembrance  of  former  joys, 
gave  him  perhaps  more  strength  to  overcome  the 
longing  he  sometimes  felt  to  return,  after  he  had 
left  his  native  place. 

Until  his  arrangements  were  concluded,  for  it 
took  some  time  to  complete  them,  the  family  re- 
sided in  the  capital ;  but  they  had  left  Germany 
long  before  Felix  exchanged  his  rude  home  with 
Dietrich  for  Petrowsky;  and  when  the  latter  made 
interest  with  Mr.  Berndt  to  enquire  after  them,  no 
one  had  been  applied  to  who  knew  anything  of 
where  they  had  gone.  Unwillingly  as  the  chil- 
dren one  and  all  left  Steinrode,  they  parted  with 
even  more  regret  from  Ehrenfried,  who,  since  the 
loss  of  Felix,  had  become  their  favorite  playfellow. 

Steinrode  had  been  sold,  furniture  and  all,  just 
as  it  stood ;  and  when  the  juvenile  portion  of  the 
family  were  about  to  depart,  they  had  all  something 
to  leave  in  the  peasant  boy's  charge.  The  English- 
man was  a  bachelor  ;  and,  as  the  halls  were  no 


224  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

more  to  echo  with  the  merry  laugh  of  childhood, 
all  their  school-books,  toys,  dolls,  and  so  forth, 
were  carefully  put  away  in  a  small  store-room  at 
the  very  top  of  the  house,  the  door  of  which  was 
locked,  and  the  key  given  to  Ehrenfried,  who  was 
to  remain  with  the  queer  old  Englishman  at  the 
castle.  With  many  tears  Pauline  gave  her  darling 
canary-bird  back  to  the  care  of  his  former  owner ; 
her  tears,  however,  were  only  tears  of  regret  at 
parting  —  she  knew  full  well  that  charge  of  care- 
fulness was  unnecessary ;  Peepy  would  be  well 
taken  care  of. 

The  Baron,  not  less  for  the  boy's  own  sake,  than 
on  account  of  his  lost  son,  Felix,  who  had  so 
dearly  loved  this  interesting  peasant  child,  had 
placed  a  small  capital  at  safe  interest  for  his  use; 
and  not  contented  with  this  act  of  benevolence 
from  himself,  had  made  interest  with  the  present 
eccentric  possessor  of  Steirirode  in  his  behalf. 
Rich,  childless,  and  liberal,  his  heart,  although  a 
little  warped,  was  not  steeled  against  the  claims 
of  real  merit.  He  listened  to  the  Baron's  repre- 
sentations, and  when  he  looked  into  the  clear  blue 
eyes  that  so  ingenuously  met  his  own  gaze,  he  had 
insight  enough  into  human  nature  to  see  that  they 
were  true. 

He  took  the  book-loving  boy  under  his  protec- 
tion, made  him  his  constant  companion,  instructed 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  225 

him  himself,  which  he  was  well  able  to  do,  for  his 
own  store  of  knowledge  was  large  and  varied ;  and 
he  had  his  reward,  since  he  was  twice  blessed.  He 
found  amusement  and  a  companion  for  the  time  he 
would  else  have  found  tedious,  and  had  a  solid 
satisfaction  in  witnessing  the  success  which  attended 
his  efforts  to  instruct.  The  sequel  will  prove  how 
greatly  the  subject  of  their  joint  care  deserved 
the  confidence  of  both  his  benefactors. 


226  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"Nearer  he  drew,  and  many  a  walk  traversed 
Of  stateliest  covert,  cedar,  pine,  or  palm ; 
Spot  lovelier  far,  to  him,  than  gardens  famed 
Or  of  revived  Adonis,  or  renowned 
Alcinoas,  host  of  old  Laertes'  son." 

WE  must  now  pass  over  a  space  of  eight  years, 
which  intervened  since  the  day  on  which  Felix  and 
Eugene  had  disappeared,  in  such  an  enigmatical 
manner,  from  Steinrode.  Much  as  the  habits  of 
the  indwellers  were  changed,  different  as  were  the 
forms  that  moved  about  performing  the  various 
duties  of  steward,  gardener,  or  farm-bailiff,  the 
outward  features  of  the  place  remained  the  same. 
It  was  summer,  and  the  evening  sun  shed  a  flood 
of  golden  light  on  the  hill-sides,  where  thousands 
of  wild  flowers  basked  in  the  genial  rays ;  the 
yellow  grain  already  ripening  to  the  harvest, 
waving  gracefully  in  the  soft  breeze,  and  like 
gentle  undulations  of  the  sea,  gave  back  his  bril- 
liant coloring.  As  far  as  nature  was  concerned,  it 
was  the  same  Steinrode  of  other  days.  All  spoke 
of  peace,  plenty,  and  quiet.  The  milk-maid  sung 
her  rural  ballad,  as  she  stood,  pail  in  hand,  waiting 
f  >r  her  patient  charge ;  and  the  Ranz  de  Vaches 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  227 

rung,  not  unmusically,  through  meadow  and  grove, 
from  the  lungs  of  the  lusty  herdsman,  as  he  drove 
glossy-skinned  cows  in  rank,  and  kept  time  with 
his  step  to  his  own  music.  The  whole  scene  was 
in  perfect  keeping — a  calm  picture  of  rural  enjoy- 
ment, so  shut  out  from  the  noisy  world,  so  appa- 
rently peaceful,  that  no  one  would  suppose  sorrow 
had  ever  been  there. 

On  the  road  which  led  from  the  village  to  the 
park,  and  close  beside  the  gate  which  opened  to  it 
from  the  garden  (the  same  which  we  endeavored  to 
describe  to  our  readers  in  the  early  part  of  our 
narration),  was  seen  a  tall,  fine-looking  youth,  with 
a  small  bundle  on  his  shoulder.  His  dress  was 
plain,  and  rather  rough,  but  it  could  not  conceal 
the  lithe,  active  play  of  his  muscles ;  his  form, 
straight  as  a  young  Hercules,  was  cast  in  nature's 
most  perfect  mould ;  his  bright,  fair  hair,  clustering 
around  his  leather  cap,  partly  shrouded  his  fair 
temples ;  and  health  had  painted  roses  with  her 
own  hand,  upon  his  downy  cheek.  Young  and 
handsome  as  he  was  blooming  and  active,  the 
marks  of  deep  emotion  were  visible  in  his  noble 
features ;  and  as  his  hand  rested  on  the  latticed 
gate,  it  was  evidently  seen  to  tremble.  At  length 
he  opened  it,  and  entered,  walking  slowly  over  the 
clean  gravel-walk,  and  stopping  once  or  twice, 
stood  looking  towards  the  castle,  with  tear-moist- 
ened eyes. 
41 


228  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

The  gardener  had  one  or  two  assistants  busy  in 
another  part  of  the  garden,  who  had  not  marked 
his  approach ;  and  meeting  with  no  hindrance,  the 
young  wanderer  sought  not  the  regular  entrance, 
nor  the  principal  walk;  but  like  one  well  acquainted 
with  the  place,  sought  out  particular  spots  of  inte- 
rest, and  still  advancing  by  the  further  side,  at 
length  stopped  beside  the  broad  pool  upon  which 
the  evening  sun  was  playing.  Its  pure  mirror  shone 
like  a  sheet  of  burnished  gold ;  and  as  it  reflected 
back  his  beams,  as  if  there  ought  to  be  no  light 
without  a  corresponding  shadow,  the  overhanging 
shrubs  that  bordered  its  sides,  mingled  their  dancing 
shadows  with  it ;  and  some  lively  fish,  springing  up 
from  below,  dashed  the  water-drops  around ;  and 
they  sparkled  in  all  the  beauty  of  prismatic  color- 
ing, as  they  fell  back  into  the  stream,  and  once 
more  mingled  in  its  quiet  flow.  Beautiful  as  the 
scene  was  —  the  distant  but  plainly  distinct  hills, 
the  fruitful  fields,  the  gay  hues  of  the  garden,  and 
the  clear,  pure  sky,  all  speaking  loudly  of  nature's 
loveliness,  and  her  Creator's  goodness — the  young 
traveller  bestowed  on  it  but  little  of  his  attention ; 
his  dark  blue  eyes  were  fixed  upon  an  arbor  covered 
with  branching  vines,  beneath  whose  shade  two 
persons  were  seated. 

One  was  a  large  man,  who,  with  his  back  toward 
the  stranger,  was  bending  over  a  book  which  he 
held  in  his  hand  ;  whilst  the  other,  a  youth,  appa- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  229 

rently  about  our  traveller's  age,  leaned  over  a  map 
spread  out  upon  the  table  before  him,  and  which 
he  seemed  to  be  studying  very  intently.  The 
stranger,  with  increasing  emotion,  approached 
slowly,  and  came  quite  to  the  party  without  being 
observed.  The  bloom  on  his  cheek  grew  yet  more 
vivid,  and  bright  tears  trembled  in  the  large  blue 
eyes.  The  reader  was  too  intent  upon  his  book  to 
be  interrupted  by  the  slight  rustling  he  made.  He 
advanced,  still  unseen,  until  within  a  few  steps  of 
him ;  and  letting  fall  his  wanderer's  staff,  he 
stretched  forth  his  trembling  arms,  and  exclaimed, 
"My  father!" 

The  person  addressed  turned  round  hastily  to 
see  who  was  the  intruder ;  and  the  features  of  one 
who  was  a  perfect  stranger,  gazing  in  mute  wonder, 
met  the  eyes  of  the  disappointed  traveller.  A  loud 
cry  of  painful  surprise  broke  involuntarily  from  the 
lips  of  the  latter ;  but  in  the  same  moment,  and 
ere  a  word  could  be  uttered  either  in  explanation 
or  reply,  the  youth  who  had  been  busy  in  examin- 
ing the  map,  sprung  over  the  table,  and  threw 
himself  into  the  still  extended  arms  of  the  stronger. 

"0,  Felix!  is  it  yourself?"  "Ehrenfried !" 
cried  both,  at  once ;  and  after  a  long  separation,  we 
find  these  early  friends  once  more  united.  But 
what  pen  can  paint  the  joy  of  either?  Could  the 
grave  have  opened,  and  given  up  its  dead,  Ehren- 
fried's  surprise  would  not  have  been  greater.  It 


230  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

were  hard  to  tell  what  feeling  predominated,  as  he 
lay  in  that  close  embrace,  and  felt  the  warm  breath 
upon  his  cheek.  The  tangible  evidence  given  by 
the  pressure  of  those  arms  that  he  had  so  long 
believed  were  cold  in  the  grave,  was  almost  too 
much,  and  he  was  near  fainting. 

He  soon,  however,  recovered,  and  a  hasty  expla- 
nation followed,  which  served  to  quiet  the  apprehen- 
sions of  Felix,  who  was  scarcely  less  moved  than 
his  friend.  Ehrenfried  introduced  him  to  the  new 
master  of  Steinrode,  who  gave  him  not  only  a 
cordial  welcome  to  his  old  home,  but  such  news  of 
his  parents  as  was  calculated  to  gladden  his  heart. 
With  feelings  almost  of  bewilderment,  he  found 
himself  treading  the  old  stone-paved  halls  of 
Steinrode.  There  were  the  same  wide  stairs  —  the 
never-forgotten  family  clock,  that  told  the  time  of 
his  birth,  and  measured  his  early  and  happy  hours 
—  ah  !  it  chimed  not  less  regularly  whilst  he  was 
absent  and  suffering,  and  it  would  do  so  when  he 
had  departed  on  the  journey  from  where  none  ever 
return.  Seated  in  the  same  room,  where  long  ago 
we  saw  them  assembled,  and  listened  to  their  child- 
ish voices,  Felix  almost  wondered  whether  or  not 
he  had  been  dreaming.  Had  he  really  been  with 
Dietrich,  and  in  Poland  —  Petrowsky — Simon  — 
Eugene  —  all  the  scenes  through  which  he  had 
passed,  flitted  rapidly  before  his  mind's  eye,  like 
the  fleeting  shadows  cast  by  a  phantasmagoria. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  231 

He  could  lay  hold  on  nothing.  The  furniture  was 
all  the  same — the  polished  oaken  tables  and  chairs 
— his  mother's  curtains — the  bright  stove,  too,  was 
there,  recalling  the  pleasant  winter  evenings ;  but 
where  were  the  loved  ones  who  once  clustered 
round  it  ? 

Supper  was  served,  but  he  was  too  happy  to 
think  of  eating ;  but  by  the  time  it  was  over,  he 
had  grown  calmer,  and  was  able  to  listen  to  the 
account  the  kind  Englishman  gave  him  of  his 
family.  Four  years  ago  they  had  returned  from 
Italy ;  and  since  then  had  lived  in  the  capital, 
where  Baron  Lindenburg  occupied  an  important 
place  at  court.  A  few  weeks  ago,  he  had  written 
to  the  present  possessor  of  Steinrode,  in  which  he 
mentioned  that  his  wife,  who  was  still  very  feeble, 
had  been  seized  with  an  unconquerable  longing  to 
see  Steinrode  once  more ;  and  he  had  resolved  to 
gratify  her  by  setting  out  as  soon  as  he  heard  his 
English  friend  would  not  be  displeased  by  a  visit. 
At  the  same  time,  he  enquired  if  he  knew  of  any 
estate  in  the  neighborhood  which  was  to  be  sold, 
for  there  was  nothing  his  family  so  much  desired 
as  to  be  in  that  neighborhood  again ;  and  as  for 
himself,  his  greatest  wish  was  to  spend  his  last 
days  in  the  retirement  afforded  by  country  life. 
He  was  weary  of  courts,  and  the  bustle  of  the 
capital ;  and  to  find  a  spot  that  afforded  him  a  view 
of  the  scenes  that  he  had  loved  to  look  upon  in  his 
41* 


282     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

early  days,  he  would  be  willing  to  pay  almost  any 
price. 

As  the  old  man  concluded  his  narration,  although 
the  advancing  twilight  had  already  begun  to  shroud 
the  earth  in  her  gray  mantle,  Felix  took  up  his 
pilgrim  staff,  and  prepared  to  set  forth  on  his 
journey  to  the  capital,  but  his  host  held  him  back. 

"No,  no,"  said  he,  "you  do  not  stir  from  Stein- 
rode  this  night,  that  you  don't.  I  am  a  queer  old 
man,  and  have  always  had  my  own  way  as  well  as 
my  own  notions ;  and  I  have  got  a  plan  in  my 
head  which  will  please  you  all.  What  that  is  you 
shall  soon  know;  for  the  present,  all  you  have  to 
do  is  to  remain  quietly  here  for  a  day  or  two." 

"Ask  any  thing  of  me  but  that,  dear  sir," 
answered  Felix,  still  holding  his  staff  and  placing 
his  cap  on  his  head,  "  any  thing  else  I  will  do ; 
but  think,  after  an  absence  of  eight  years,  how 
could  I  linger  even  at  Steinrode,  when  I  knew 
where  my  family  are  to  be  found — my  parents  who 
must  believe  me  dead  ?  No,  I  must  go." 

"  And  travel  all  night  and  be  sick,  and  lay  bj 
to-morrow,"  returned  the  Englishman,  drily.  "Boy- 
like,  boylike ;  but  it  won't  do.  I  see  I  will  have 
to  tell  you  more  than  I  intended.  Your  parents 
are  to  be  here  on  the  day  after  to-morrow  ;  and  as 
they  have  left  the  capital  some  days  ago,  and  are 
now  on  their  journey,  it  would  answer  no  good 
purpose  for  you  to  set  out  on  foot,  since,  not  know- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  233 

ing  what  road  they  intended  to  take,  you  might 
miss  them  on  the  way." 

Felix  still  stood  irresolute — he  knew  not  how  to 
remain,  and  the  old  man  went  on.  "Boy,  if  you 
are  as  hard  to  be  persuaded  to  do  wrong  as  you 
are  difficult  to  manage  in  this  case,  you  will  yet 
prove  a  treasure  to  your  family.  So  it  seems  I 
shall  have  to  tell  you  more  than  I  wish  to ;  for  I 
love  to  have  those  little  mysteries.  That  is  one 
of  my  hobbies.  Your  father  wishes  to  buy  a 
country  place ;  he  shall  have  Steinrode  again  at 
the  same  price  I  gave  him  for  it.  It  is  a  pleasant 
home,  but  I  don't  like  a  tame  life ;  I  must  travel ; 
and  so  I  have  determined  to  make  a  voyage  to 
America,  taking  Ehrenfried  with  me.  Now  all 
you  have  to  do  at  present  is  to  give  up  to  my  whim, 
since  by  doing  so  you  will  likely  see  your  parents 
sooner  than  by  taking  your  own  way." 

Felix  found  himself  obliged  to  yield,  which  he 
did  very  reluctantly.  He  deemed  every  moment 
wasted  in  which  he  was  not  on  the  road  which  led 
to  the  capital  and  his  dear  ones ;  but  when  Ehren- 
fried added  his  entreaties,  and  spoke  of  the  prepa- 
rations they  two  would  make  on  the  next  day ; 
this  prospect,  as  well  as  his  own  fatigue,  which  was 
every  moment  becoming  more  powerfully  felt, 
decided  him  to  conquer  his  characteristic  im- 
patience. 

He  retired  to  rest  at  an  early  hour,  but  he  could 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

not  sleep  —  it  was  the  same  room,  the  same  bed 
he  had  shared  with  his  brother  Herman  ;  and  busy 
thought,  overmatching  his  worn-out  frame,  ran  riot 
in  the  feverish  excitement  caused  by  the  agitating 
circumstances  through  which  he  had  passed  on  that 
day. 

He  thought  over  what  the  meeting  between  him- 
self and  his  parents  would  be  —  what  his  brother 
and  sisters  would  think  were  he  to  start  up  sud- 
denly before  them — did  they  really  believe  he  was 
dead,  as  Ehrenfried  had  told  him  they  did — ought 
they  not  to  be  first  written  to,  in  order  to  prepare 
them  for  so  great  a  surprise  ?  But  no  ;  a  letter 
could  not  reach  them  before  they  would  have 
arrived  at  Steinrode ;  and,  although  thought  rapidly 
succeeded  to  thought,  and  plan  to  plan,  he  still 
remained  undecided.  In  vain  he  turned  his  pillow 
again  and  again  to  cool  his  heated  temples,  and 
invite  sleep.  The  balmy  god,  with  a  caprice  pecu- 
liarly his  own,  and  unlike  the  world,  flies  from  the 
couch  of  joy — he  would  not  obey  the  summons  of 
our  hero,  and  midnight  found  him  still  feverish  and 
wakeful.  Memory  held  her  page  open  before  him, 
and  he  must  read  it  whether  he  wished  or  not  to 
do  so. 

"This  will  not  do,"  he  said  at  last;  "  I  shall  be 
unfit  to  bear  the  meeting  myself  if  I  keep  on  this 
•way." 

He  arose  from  his  bed  and  went  to  the  window, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  235 

through  which  the  moon  was  shining,  making  every 
object  in  that  dear  old  room  distinct,  chronicling 
the  record  of  the  times  gone  by  so  vividly,  that  it 
almost  seemed  to  him  he  had  never  been  absent 
from  it.  He  raised  the  sash  and  looked  out  on  the 
landscape  below,  Avhich,  bathed  in  her  silver  light, 
lay  spread  out  as  if  in  holy  quiet  before  him.  No 
breeze  rustled  in  the  branches  —  the  shadows  cast 
by  the  trees  lay  motionless  on  the  ground,  the  dim 
distant  outline  of  the  hills,  the  fringed  border  of 
the  dark  forest,  and  the  hedged  fields  with  here 
and  there  a  cottage  chimney  rising  visible  in  the 
clear  light  —  all  those  objects  on  which  his  fancy 
dwelt  whilst  a  slave  in  a  strange  land,  were  now 
in  reality  before  him.  No  cloud  was  in  the  sky — 
no  sound  disturbed  the  universal  hush ;  arid  pure, 
calm,  and  holy  as  it  all  looked,  it  could  not  fail  to 
exert  an  influence  on  his  excited  frame. 

He  gazed  long,  and  as  he  did  so,  soothing  came; 
for  to  a  lover  of  Nature  her  preachings  are  never 
in  vain.  He  indeed  recalled  the  childish  light- 
hearted  feelings  with  which  he  had  last  regarded 
them,  and  contrasted  with  his  present  experience. 
Shadow  and  storm-clouds  had  since  then  passed 
thickly  over  his  life ;  but  now  was  not  the  repose, 
so  beautifully  typified  by  the  scene  without,  to 
follow,  its  enjoyment  to  be  greatly  enhanced  by  the 
remembrance  of  what  he  had  endured  ? 

And  after  all  what  was  it  he  had  been  made  to 


236  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

suffer  V  hardships,  it  was  true ;  but  at  worst,  only 
man's  experience.  His  teachings  had  begun  while 
he  was  yet  a  boy ;  and  he  had  surely  had  nothing 
to  complain  of,  since  it  enabled  him  to  enter  upon 
the  important  duties  of  life,  and  undertake  them 
for  himself  with  a  prudence  and  foresight  belong- 
ing to  maturer  years.  He  regarded  them,  sus- 
tained and  delivered  as  he  had  been,  as  earnests 
of  the  favor  and  kindness  of  his  Heavenly  Father, 
to  cure  him  of  the  besetments  of  his  own  evil 
nature,  and  to  teach  him  that  patience  which  is 
"necessary  to  do  good  works." 

He  had  not  only  been  taught  by  his  severe  trials 
that  man  "in  this  world  must  have  tribulation," 
but  had  been  visited  in  the  same  dark  season  with 
the  promised  "peace." 

He  was  no  longer  in  dreams,  but  in  reality,  at 
his  much-loved. home,  waiting  the  arrival  of  those 
who  were  his  earthly  treasures.  Joy  and  gratitude 
filled  his  heart — he  felt  he  had  nothing  to  complain 
of — God  had  done  all  things  well,  and  he  now  saw 
the  wisdom  of  his  providence,  although  at  the  time 
the  "affliction  was  grievous." 

Alone,  surrounded  only  by  the  influences  which 
speak  to  the  soul  and  not  to  the  ear,  he  felt  the 
Mighty  presence.  He  knelt  on  the  same  spot 
where  his  childish  prayers  had  been  uttered,  and 
tears  flowed  forth  profusely  —  tears  which,  issuing 
from  the  purest  spring  of  man's  nature,  cannot 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  23" 

fail  to  soothe.  They  did,  and  angels  registered 
the  accompanying  petition ;  for  his  later  life 
proved  that  the  boon  he  had  asked  for  on  earth, 
was  ratified  in  heaven. 

After  a  time  he  returned  to  the  couch  he  had 
left,  and  the  tears  he  had  shed  proved  as  a  "bath 
and  balm  to  the  soul."  Sleep  came  now  without 
much  urging  to  his  pillow;  and  the  sun  rose  bright 
above  the  hill-tops,  and  his  senses  were  still  locked 
in  balmy  slumber,  when  Ehrenfried  knocked  at  his 
door,  and  bade  him  rise,  for  breakfast  had  been 
waiting  for  some  time. 

"Ah!  my  young  traveller,"  said  his  merry  old 
host,  "  you  have  let  the  sun  beat  you  by  a  long 
way ;  had  you  set  out  for  the  capital,  as  you  in- 
tended last  night,  you  would  have,  no  doubt, 
reached  there  ere  this  time,  since  you  are  such  an 
early  riser.  But  come,  you  look  pale,  you  are  to 
be  excused ;  some  breakfast  will  set  you  up  again  ; 
here  it  comes.  I  do  not  know,"  he  continued, 
"  how  you  will  like  our  English  toast  and  coffee, 
after  your  Polish  gritz  and  bacon,  or  beer-soup 
with  a  bit  of  toasted  cheese  running  round  in  it. 
The  Poles  are  a  very  good  sort  of  people,  as  I 
found  out  when  I  travelled  among  them  years  ago: 
but  they  lord  it  a  little  too  hardly  over  the  peas- 
ants. We  don't  do  so  in  England." 

Felix  smiled  as  he  took  the  chair  placed  for  him 
at  the  table.  "  So,  sir,  you  have  tasted  gritz  and 


238  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

bacon ;  there  is  worse  food  in  the  world  than 
that." 

"  So  there  is,  tny  boy,  so  there  is,"  he  answered  ; 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  of  the  right  sort ;  not 
ready  to  find  too  much  fault  with  the  bridge,  al- 
though a  rude  one,  which  has  carried  you  safely 
over.  And  the  rough  Polish  fare  to  which  you 
have  been  accustomed  has  done  you  no  harm ;  it 
must  be  wholesome,  if  not  very  palatable,  since  it 
has  given  you  a  complexion  that  any  fair  lady 
might  envy." 

"  He  always  had  it,"  rejoined  Ehrenfried,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  host,  "  it  is  still  saying 
much  for  it  or  the  climate,  that  it  has  not  spoiled 
it;  but  come,"  he  continued,  as  he  placed  a  large 
slice  of  toast  on  the  plates  of  each  of  the  boys, 
"  eat  heartily,  for  I  intend  you  shall  work  to-day. 
When  the  Lindenburg  family  left  Steinrode,  they 
took  nothing  away  with  them  ;  Ehrenfried  knows 
all  about  it ;  I  want  everything  fixed  as  nearly  as 
possible  as  it  was  when  they  were  here,  even  to 
the  school  and  toy  room.  I  know  many  people 
think  me  odd ;  but  I  have  my  own  notions.  Now 
arrange  everything  as  you  know  it  used  to  be,  so 
as  to  have  all  ready  for  their  arrival  to-morrow  ; 
for  I  expect  not  only  your  parents,  Felix,  but  the 
whole  family  to  take  possession." 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  239 

The  boys  joined  heartily  in  the  occupation  which 
was  to  create  so  great  a  surprise ;  and  to  Felix, 
whose  mind  had  dwelt  constantly  on  Steinrode  as 
it  looked  when  he  left  it,  it  was  an  easy  task  to 
direct  what  arrangements  were  to  be  added  to 
those  already  existing. 

Nevertheless,  they  had  much  time  to  spare ;  and 
to  fill  up  the  hours  that  would  else  have  dragged 
heavily,  the  young  friends  visited  all  the  spots 
where  years  ago  they  had  played  together  —  the 
garden  where  Eugene  had  ordered  Ehrenfried  to 
pull  off  his  boots  (how  changed  their  conditions 
now),  the  grassy  bank  where  the  latter  had  sunk 
exhausted  in  his  search  after  Melanie's  bracelet ; 
and  lastly,  they  went  to  Petersmiehl,  and  the  cot- 
tage where  Ehrenfried  had  lived  with  his  mother. 
The  windows  were  closed,  and  the  garden  over- 
grown ;  it  looked  slovenly  and  ill-kept. 

"  She  don't  live  there  now,"  said  Ehrenfried  in 
answer  to  his  question,  "  but  at  Steinrode ;  farmer 
Shultze  turned  her  out  of  it  three  years  ago.  You 
know  she  rented  it  from  him  until  his  son  Robert, 
out  of  malice  to  me,  turned  his  father  against  her 
by  some  falsehood  he  told ;  she  was  greatly  troubled 
at  first,  but  it  turned  out  all  for  the  best.  Since 
that  time  we  have  both  lived  at  the  castle,  where 
she  has  the  charge  of  the  dairy,  and  I  act  as  the 
English  gentleman's  secretary,  when  I  ana  not  at 
school." 
42 


240  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

"He  seems  to  be  a  very  kind  man,"  responded 
Felix. 

"He  is,"  returned  Ehrenfried;  "but  I  have  you 
and  Herman  to  thank  for  all  the  good  that  has 
happened  me.  Who  could  have  thought  that  the 
kindness  that  brought  you  to  Petersmiihl,  and  led 
you  to  give  books,  and  teach  your  own  lessons  just 
as  you  had  learned  them  to  a  poor,  sick,  and  igno- 
rant peasant  boy,  should  have  borne  such  valuable 
fruit  ?  If  you  had  not  awakened  me  to  such  a  love 
of  learning,  and  a  desire  to  gain  knowledge,  I 
would  have  been  a  poor  ignorant  boy  still ;  and 
with  all  the  industry  I  could  use  would  only  be  able 
to  provide  my  mother  a  living  of  the  poorest 
sort;  and  now  she  has  every  comfort.  See  how 
many  blessings  have  sprung  from  your  kindness." 

"But  what  has  become  of  Robert?"  enquired 
Felix,  interrupting  him  less  from  curiosity  than 
embarrassment  at  hearing  his  own  praises. 

"  0,  that  is  a  sad  history,"  answered  Ehrenfried. 
"  Farmer  Shultze  purchased  a  large  property  a  few 
miles  from  here,  and  died  almost  immediately  after. 
Robert  was  not  contented  to  live  as  his  father  had 
done,  but  gave  up  the  management  of  his  affairs  to 
a  steward,  who  turned  out  to  be  an  unprincipled 
man,  and  betrayed  the  poor  fellow  into  the  hands 
of  sharpers,  who  soon  ruined  him.  From  the  time 
he  became  of  age  he  had  been  advised  to  be  care- 
ful of  this  man.  and  to  undertake  the  management 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  241 

of  his  own  affairs ;  but  he  was  deaf  to  all  his  friends 
could  urge ;  and  so,  never  having  loved  books  or 
intellectual  pleasures,  and  being  without  employ- 
ment wherewith  to  fill  up  his  time,  in  order  to  dis- 
sipate the  hours  that  hung  so  tediously  upon  him, 
he  began  to  frequent  the  low  ale-houses  in  the  vil- 
lage, where  he  formed  companionships  that  led  him 
to  the  practice  of  every  species  of  vice.  A  love 
of  gambling  brought  him  to  the  lowest  grade  of 
human  depravity;  for,  finding  himself  completely 
impoverished,  and  having  had  no  education  by 
which  he  could  obtain  an  occupation,  even  that  of 
the  poorest  paid  teacher,  he  found  himself  entirely 
without  resources.  As  to  bodily  labor,  he  deemed  it 
too  far  beneath  him  ;  and,  reduced  to  actual  want, 
he  at  last  sunk  so  low  as  to  join  a  plan  of  house- 
breaking,  proposed  by  his  desperate  associates. 
An  attempt  was  made  by  them  to  rob  the  dwell- 
ing which  his  father  had  purchased,  and  he  had  so 
carelessly  let  slip  from  his  possession.  He  joined 
the  undertaking,  and  one  of  the  party  turned 
traitor,  and  all  was  discovered  when  just  on  the 
point  of  succeeding.  They  were  all  taken  by  the 
police,  and  now " 

"And  what  has  been  his  fate?"  interrupted 
Felix,  impatient  to  hear  the  conclusion. 

"  He  is  no  longer  in  this  world,"  was  the  answer  ; 
"  he  died  in  prison,  a  year  ago.  It  seemed  a  mer- 
ciful interposition  of  Providence  ;  for  if  he  had  not 


242  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

suffered  a  public  execution,  he  would  have  been 
sentenced  to  the  galleys  for  life." 

"The  way  of  the  wicked  is  hard,"  said  Felix, 
thoughtfully;  "and  they  that  enter  into  companion- 
ship with  the  ungodly,  find  their  path  leads  unto 
death.  I  have  much  to  tell  you  of  what  I  have 
seen  and  suffered  since  last  I  trod  these  well-re- 
membered paths  ;  and  although  in  the  midst  of  the 
wicked,  beset  by  snares  and  temptations,  I  bless 
God  I  was  preserved  from  becoming  like  those  who 
would  have  led  me  astray." 

"Tell  me,  Felix,  tell  me  all,"  said  Ehrenfried  ; 
"  I  am  impatient  to  know  how  you  and  Eugene 
were  spirited  away,  and  what  befel  you  in  that 
barbarous  province  of  Russian  Poland." 

"Not  now,"  answered  Felix;  "I  am  at  present 
too  anxious ;  every  moment  I  expect  to  see  the 
carriage  that  brings  my  parents.  I  start  at  every 
noise  like  a  nervous  maiden.  It  is  a  long  story, 
and  will  take  time  to  tell  ;  let  us  go  back  to  the 
house  at  present ;  maybe  some  tidings  of  the 
visitors  may  have  arrived." 

Ehrenfried  assented.  They  returned  to  the 
castle,  and  found  Mr.  Norman  (for  that  was  the 
name  of  the  English  gentleman,)  reading  a  letter. 

"  They  will  not  be  here  until  the  day  after  to- 
morrow," said  he,  in  answer  to  the  boys'  look  of 
enquiry ;  "  but  be  patient,  you  will  have  more  time 
to  prepare  for  the  meeting." 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  243 

"  Cannot  I  go  some  miles  on  the  road  they  will 
travel,  and  so  see  them  sooner?  Every  minute 
seems  an  hour,  and  every  day  a  week,  until  I  see 
those  dear  faces  once  more  —  those  faces  that  for 
more  than  eight  years  I  have  beheld  only  in 
dreams." 

"  It  is  so  uncertain  which  way  they  will  take," 
said  Mr.  Norman,  "  that  you  by  going  forward 
may  miss  them  by  the  very  means  you  take  to 
hasten  the  meeting.  No,  no ;  remain  quietly  here 
until  they  come ;  you  will  but  have  the  more  time 
to  make  Steinrode  look  as  it  used  to  do  eight  years 
ago.  They  will  be  ready  to  suppose  they  have 
been  asleep  and  dreaming  for  that  length  of  time, 
when  they  find  Steinrode  unchanged,  and  Felix 
here.  We  know  there  are  fabled  sleepers,  and 
visions  of  enchantment;  and  as  these  Silesian  hills 
belong  to  the  very  realm  of  superstition,  they 
may  be  ready  to  think  some  mischievous  goblin  has 
been  playing  them  a  trick." 

"  My  parents  are  too  good  Christians  to  be 
superstitious,"  said  Felix,  laughing;  "but  I  was  a 
true  believer  in  all  good  Dame  Spiller's  marvellous 
stories  of  the  pranks  of  the  Hartz  demons.  I  do 
wonder  what  the  old  lady  will  say  when  she  sees 
me !" 

"  That  the  Riibezahl  has  brought  you  back  the 
same  as  he  spirited  you  away,"  rejoined  Ehren- 
fried,  entering  into  the  merry  mood  of  the  others ; 
42* 


244     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

"  but  come,  Felix,  let  us  go  to  work ;  and  while 
we  are  waiting  for  the  arrival,  there  will  be  time 
to  tell  and  hear  your  story." 

They  took  up  their  caps,  and  left  the  castle ; 
and  as  they  wandered  on  the  same  paths,  and 
through  the  same  fields  over  which  he  had  so  often 
bounded  in  the  frolicsome  time  of  his  boyhood,  as 
he  went  with  his  brother  to  visit  Ehrenfried,  he 
related  to  the  latter  the  adventures  through  which 
he  had  passed,  in  the  greater  part  of  which  we 
have  already  followed  him. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  245 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  We  bear  our  fortunes  in  our  own  strong  arms." 

As  our  readers  lost  sight  of  the  young  adven- 
turers on  the  stormy  night  when  the  old  Jew,  after 
carefully  closing  them  up  in  his  waggon,  drove 
cautiously  out  of  the  city,  so  we  will  take  up  the 
thread  of  our  narrative  from  that  point.  Closely 
as  he  had  been  watched  hy  the  police,  for  a  length 
of  time,  the  crafty  old  villain  concerted  his  plans 
so  well,  that  he  was  once  more  able  to  elude  their 
vigilance.  It  was  a  night  of  horror ;  and  none 
but  a  murderer  seeking  his  victim,  or  a  criminal 
flying  from  justice,  would  have  dared  its  fury. 
The  thunder  rolled,  but  its  voice,  although  like 
that  of  a  threatening  spirit,  was  unheeded  —  the 
lightning  played  in  forked  streams — and  the  wildly 
raving  tempest  threatened  destruction  to  all  ex- 
posed to  its  rage ;  but  the  hoary  old  sinner,  in 
whose  soul  a  continual  tempest  ever  fermented, 
cared  not  for  the  strife  of  elements,  or  convulsion 
of  nature.  As  though  he  knew  himself  under  the 
protection  of  some  evil  power,  whose  potent  rule 
could  chain  the  storm,  and  fetter  its  wrath,  he 
drove  his  affrighted  horse  stoutly  forward,  uncaring 
21* 


246  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

for  the  pealing  thunder,  yet  straining  every  listen- 
ing nerve  to  distinguish  noise  of  pursuit ;  and 
looking  back,  to  try  if  in  the  blinding  flashes  he 
could  discover  any  pui'suing  forms.  None  were  in 
sight,  and  with  each  mile  his  confidence  increased. 
After  midnight,  the  storm  subsided ;  and  although 
dark  and  angry  clouds  still  obscured  the  sky,  the 
moon  broke  out  at  intervals  through  the  mist ;  and 
by  her  struggling  light  the  young  travellers  saw 
that  they  had  left  the  high-road,  and  were  again 
entering  on  a  rude  and  savage  district. 

As  each  mile  disclosed  some  new  feature  of 
barbarous  wildness,  that  forcibly  reminded  them  of 
scenes  they  had  passed  through  with  Dietrich,  their 
young  hearts  sunk  within  them  at  the  idea  of  once 
more  encountering  the  horrors  of  a  remote  pro- 
vince in  Russian  Poland,  which  they  had  no  doubt 
was  at  this  time  their  point  of  destination.  As 
the  day  struggled  into  existence,  and  they  could, 
by  watching  the  course  of  the  clouds,  which  were 
driving  wildly  before  the  wind,  determine  to  what 
point  of  the  compass  their  course  was  steering, 
their  feelings  were  little  short  of  despair.  Eugene, 
as  usual,  was  loud  in  his  lamentations ;  but  Felix, 
tortured  by  self-reproach,  uttered  not  a  word.  He 
looked  out  on  the  bleak  and  seemingly  interminable 
plains,  varied  only  by  patches  of  heath,  and  on 
which,  at  times,  a  brilliant  spot  of  sunlight  rested, 
as  it  broke  forth  from  the  driving  clouds;  con- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     247 

trasting,  by  its  vividness,  with  the  sombre  hue  that 
rested  on  all  else  around ;  and  as  it  would  vanish 
as  rapidly  as  it  had  arisen,  was  only  too  true  an 
emblem  of  the  bright  and  evanescent  hope  that 
had  so  lately  illumed  the  dreary  waste  of  his  own 
cheerless  existence. 

But  youth  is  ever  hopeful.  The  very  alterna- 
tion of  light  and  shadow  cast  upon  the  face  of 
nature  by  the  drifting  cloud  and  flying  sunbeam, 
awoke  a  better  spirit  in  the  youth's  heart.  "  The 
sunbeam,"  said  he,  "is  hidden  by  the  cloud,  and 
the  darkness,  in  its  turn,  is  driven  away  by  the 
cheering  ray.  So  it  is  in  life,  at  least  as  I  have 
found  it ;  all  is  not  brightness,  neither  is  all  gloom. 
I  will  hope  on,  and  hope  ever ;"  and  with  such 
thoughts  he  began  at  last  to  feel  comforted. 

The  wind  still  swept  by  in  wintry  gusts,  but  its 
shrill  whistle  was  unheeded;  and  wondering  what 
could  be  Simon's  intention,  or  to  what  place  he 
was  taking  them,  he  gave  himself  up  to  more  ma- 
ture deliberation  than  was  to  be  expected  from  one 
of  his  years;  surveying  the  land-marks,  and  noting 
all  conspicuous  objects  on  the  sterile  plains  over 
which  they  were  passing,  in  the  prospect  of  such 
observations  one  day  aiding  them  in  effecting  their 
escape.  They  travelled  over  those  flat  plains  for 
many  days,  when  one  evening,  after  objects  became 
indistinct  in  the  advancing  twilight,  their  conductor 
drew  up  before  the  door  of  a  house,  at  one  end  of  a 


248  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

village,  which  Simon  informed  them  was  the  resi- 
dence of  his  brother-in-law,  the  cabinet-maker, 
with  whom  they  were  to  remain. 

"  At  this  place,"  said  Felix,  in  his  relation  to 
Ehrenfried,  "  we  had  not  the  best  times ;  we  were 
kept  constantly  at  work  in  the  shop,  and  up  late 
and  early.  This  was  harder  on  Eugene  than  on 
myself;  for  he  was  always  averse  to  doing  any- 
thing, and  every  day  became  more  discontented. 
I  comforted  him  as  well  as  I  could,  and  helped  him 
out  of  many  unpleasant  circumstances,  into  which 
he  had  fallen  by  his  own  perverseness.  From  day 
to  day,  I  looked  for  Simon's  return  ;  I  knew  he 
had  gone  into  Silesia,  and  I  was  assured  the  reward 
he  hoped  to  receive,  when  he  found  our  story  true, 
would  induce  him  to  come  back  that  way,  and  take 
us  to  our  homes.  Horwitz,  our  new  master,  also 
waited  anxiously  for  news  from  his  brother-in-law ; 
but  as  none  came,  and  month  after  month  passed 
away,  he  at  length  placed  us  in  the  shop  as  regular 
apprentices,  declaring  that  we  must  serve  the  full 
time,  as  he  was  unable  to  support  us  except  on  such 
terms.  He  was  a  very  different  person  from 
Simon,  and  by  no  means  unreasonable  in  his  de- 
mands. He  exacted  a  steady  obedience,  but  was 
as  upright  and  honest  as  his  brother-in-law  was 
knavish  ;  and  whilst  he  represented  his  own  ina- 
bility to  send  us  into  Silesia,  explained  that  it 
could  do  us  no  harm  to  learn  a  respectable  trade, 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     249 

since  it  would  at  last  furnish  us  with  the  means  to 
travel  homewards,  if  Simon  should  fail  to  return 
with  tidings. 

"  So,  then,  for  three  tedious  years  we  had  to 
serve  a  pretty  tough  time  of  apprenticeship ;  my 
heart  was  often  heavy  enough ;  but  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  gain  my  master's  confidence  and  favor 
through  some  slight  services  I  rendered  him,  and 
finding  I  understood  figures,  he  made  me  his  book- 
keeper. You  know  I  always  loved  to  draw.  I 
made  some  designs  —  designs  from  the  remem- 
brances of  Steinrode  —  for  him  on  paper ;  and  as 
the  pieces  of  furniture  made  from  those  patterns 
were  approved,  and  opened  a  new  source  of  profit, 
Horwitz  made  me  several  presents  of  small  sums 
of  money,  and  promised  to  relinquish  the  last  year 
of  my  apprenticeship.  0,  how  happy  I  was  to 
hear  it.  Besides,  I  could,  by  working  at  odd  hours, 
earn  something  for  myself;  this  I  carefully  laid 
away  every  week  ;  and  counting  it  over,  found  I 
would  soon  have  enough  to  carry  me  into  Silesia. 
But,  now  anxious  as  I  was  to  go  home,  I  could  not 
bear  to  leave  Eugene  behind.  I  entreated  our 
master  to  give  him  his  freedom ;  but  I  could  not 
prevail  upon  him  to  do  so.  He  said  'he  had 
nothing  but  trouble  with  him  ;  he  was  self-willed 
and  lazy  ;  and  he  would  not  release  him  from  his 
last  year,  unless  for  an  indemnifying  sum.' 

"  Indeed.   I  did  not  much  wonder ;    for  it  was 


250  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

true  he  had  little  right  to  be  indulgent  and  kind. 
Eugene  had  not  at  all  improved,  but  remained  as 
untractable  as  ever ;  not  only  disobedient  and 
negligent  of  his  duties,  but  tried,  by  the  playing 
off  of  some  petty  tricks  on  members  of  the  house- 
hold, and  every  other  means,  to  provoke  and  irri- 
tate his  master.  The  money  that  he  received  for 
carrying  home  furniture,  he  spent  as  regularly  for 
some  unnecessary  dainty ;  and  in  spite  of  all  I 
could  urge,  would  not  take  the  least  trouble  to  con- 
ciliate his  master,  or  lay  anything  up  to  bear  the 
expense  of  his  hoped-for  journey. 

U0ne  day  as  I  was  searching  for  something  in  an 
unused  part  of  the  house,  my  eyes  fell  upon  an  old 
cupboard  that  stood  almost  out  of  sight  in  a  corner  ; 
although  nearly  dropping  to  pieces  through  age 
and  decay,  the  quaint  and  old-fashioned  carving 
attracted  my  attention.  I  imagined  it  might  once 
have  graced  the  hall  of  some  barbarian  king,  in 
some  by-gone  age ;  and  having  always  a  reverence 
for  these  old  chroniclers,  I  begged  my  master  to 
let  me  repair  it,  for  I  thought  it  well  worth  the 
trouble.  Laughing  at  my  enthusiasm,  he  consented, 
saying  I  might  'have  the  old  thing  for  my  trouble ; 
that  it  had  been  in  that  corner  ever  since  he  could 
remember,  and  he  had  heard  his  father  say  it  had 
been  many  generations  in  the  family,  although 
none  of  them  knew  how  it  came  into  their  posses- 
sion.' 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  251 

"  Although  it  was  a  holiday,  I  began  at  once  to 
work  upon  it.  In  the  meantime,  Eugene  sat  at  the 
shop  window,  looking  moodily  out  into  the  street. 
I  begged  him  on  this  morning,  as  I  had  done  often 
before,  to  get  at  some  work  at  spare  times  to  help 
himself  a  little.  I  told  him,  too,  how  willingly  I 
would  work  if  he  would  aid  me,  in  order  to  raise 
the  requisite  sum  to  pay  Hor\\itz  for  the  release 
of  his  last  }Tear.  As  it  would  require  a  long  time 
for  me  to  do  so,  since  he  had  nothing  laid  by, 
neither  would  assist,  I  deemed  it  best  for  myself  to 
go  at  once  into  Silesia,  to  seek  my  own  and  his 
parents,  and  they  could  at  once  send  the  necessary 
sum.  With  this  proposition  he  was  greatly  dis- 
contented. 

"'No,  indeed,'  said  he;  'I  would  rather  wait 
until  you  can  gather  the  necessary  sum  ;  you  have 
the  knack  of  earning  money,  which  I  have  not ;  so 
do  not  talk  of  going.  How  do  you  think  I  could 
stay  in  this  horrible  place  alone  ?' 

"  You  may  think,  Ehrenfried,  how  this  behaviour 
vexed  me;  what  pain  that  selfishness  which  thought 
only  of  its  own  desire,  and  cared  not  for  my  long- 
ing even  to  sickness  for  home,  gave  me.  I  thought 
of  a  passage  I  had  once  read,  ;  that  selfishness,  like 
the  sand  of  the  desert,  drank  up  all,  and  returned 
nothing.'  I  made  him  no  answer,  but  began  to 
work  on  my  old  cupboard,  while  he  still  sat  idle, 
and  gazing  out  of  the  window. 
48 


252  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

"  But  I  must  now  tell  you  that,  with  the  consent 
as  well  as  advice  of  my  master,  in  the  early  part 
of  my  apprenticeship  I  had  written  twice  to  my 
parents.  To  the  first  no  answer  came;  the  last 
came  back  with  these  words  written  on  it :  '  No 
family  of  that  name  at  Steinrode — left  many  years 
ago.'  Not  altogether  discouraged,  I  then  wrote  a 
third,  and  directed  it  to  aunt  Angela,  who  lived  in 
the  capital ;  but  this  too  was  returned,  with  the 
tidings  written  also  on  the  cover,  '  that  the  lady 
addressed  had  been  many  years  abroad,  perhaps  in 
England,  most  likely  in  Italy;  but  her  residence 
in  either  country  was  unknown.' 

"  There  was  now  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  wait 
patiently  for  the  term  of  my  apprenticeship  to  ex- 
pire, and  then  set  out  myself  to  seek  my  family  in 
whatever  part  of  the  world  they  might  be  sojourning. 
I  therefore  gave  up  writing,  as  I  was  indebted  to  my 
master  for  postage  money ;  *  and  to  a  boy  without 
means  of  making  any,  as  I  was  at  that  time,  it  was 
no  easy  matter  to  repay. 

"  One  day,  as  I  was  very  busy  with  my  plan  of 
repairing  the  old  cupboard,  I  observed  on  one  side 
a  singular  piece  of  carving,  which  did  not  match 
with  the  rest,  and  of  greatly  superior  workman- 
ship. I  wondered  how  it  had  ever  come  to  be 


*  Postage  \a  a  much  more  important  itom  of  expense  in 
Europe  than  in  our  own  country. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  253 

placed  there  ;  and  the  idea  struck  me,  that  by  re- 
moving it  I  could  use  it  more  advantageously  by 
ornamenting  some  other  piece  of  furniture  with  it. 
I  accordingly  got  my  tools,  and  began  to  endeavor 
to  loosen  it ;  but  it  was  so  tightly  imbedded  in 
the  wood,  that  my  efforts  were  vain ;  I  could  not 
move  it  an  inch.  I  called  to  Eugene  to  come  and 
help  me ;  but  his  ill-humor  had  not  gone  off,  and 
without  turning  his  head  from  the  street  on  which 
he  continued  to  gaze,  he  answered  sullenly, 

"  '  Indeed  I  will  not  do  any  such  thing  ;  I  work 
enough  other  days,  and  I  am  not  going  to  take  any 
unnecessary  trouble  on  holidays.' 

"  I  said  nothing  more  to  him,  but  continued  to 
work  away  with  all  my  strength  at  the  piece  of 
carving,  which  seemed  to  be  made  of  iron  rather 
than  wood.  At  length  by  a  powerful  effort,  just 
as  I  contemplated  giving  it  up  as  a  hopeless  job, 
it  yielded ;  and  at  the  same  moment  a  concealed 
drawer  flew  open,  arid  a  large  sum  of  money,  in 
rouleaux  of  gold  and  silver,  lay  before  my  eyes. 
Eugene,  awakened  from  his  indifference,  now  stood 
near  me;  and  as  he  surveyed  the  trcnsnre  with  the 
gloating  look  of  a  miser,  he  exclaimed,  joyfully, 
'  See  there,  Felix,  we  are  rich  now  without  any 
trouble,  or  wronging  any  one.  With  this  money 
I  can  get  my  freedom  ;  and  now  leave  off  working 
at  the  old  cupboard,  and  let  us  go  home !' 

He    made  a  movement  towards  the  dnnver,  as 


254  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

if  to  grasp  the  gold,  but  I  caught  his  hand  and  held 
him  back. 

"'Without  wronging  any  one?'  I  repeated 
quietly ;  '  do  you  think  it  your  right  to  take  pos- 
session of  this  money  ?  It  does  not  belong  to 
either  you  or  myself.' 

"'Now,  Felix,'  rejoined  he,  'I  hope  you  are 
not  going  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  tell  this  secret  to 
our  master?  the  treasure  does  not  belong  to  him, 
I  am  sure.' 

"  '  If  not  to  him,  much  less  to  you,'  said  I  in 
answer:  taking  up  the  rouleaux  of  gold  out  of  the 
drawer,  I  put  them  in  my  pocket,  and  took  my 
way  towards  the  family  room,  where  I  knew  I 
should  find  our  master.  Eugene,  by  this  time  in 
a  towering  passion,  sprung  after  me ;  and  seizing 
me  by  the  collar,  endeavored  to  possess  himself 
of  the  money.  His  attack  was  so  sudden,  that  it 
cost  me  some  trouble  to  defend  myself. 

"  I  kept  him  at  bay  for  some  time ;  but  his 
anger  getting  the  better  of  his  prudence,  he 
snatched  up  the  knife  I  had  been  using  from  the 
work-bench  where  I  had  thrown  it,  and  pierced  me 
in  the  side.  A  little  pinchbeck  watch,  which  my 
master  had  given  ine,  broke  the  force  of  the  blow, 
and  saved  my  life.  The  stroke  was  not  deep,  but 
the  wound  bled  profusely;  yet  only  for  the  watch, 
and  my  life  would  have  been  the  sacrifice,  and 
Eugene  forever  unhappy  ;  since  the  murderer's  act 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN'.  255 

would  have  been  the  consequence  of  his  own  rash- 
ness only.  I  bound  up  the  wound  myself  as  well 
as  I  could,  for  Eugene  was  of  no  use  to  assist;  as 
sincere  in  his  repentance  as  he  had  a  few  minutes 
before  been  furious  in  his  anger,  he  now  lay  rolling 
upon  the  floor,  reproaching  himself  with  what  he 
had  done,  and  bidding  me  do  as  I  pleased  with  the 
money — 'he  wanted  none  of  it.' 

"I  left  him  to  complain  and  weep  as  long  as  he 
chose,  and  went  to  our  master ;  who  was  greatly 
pleased  with  what  he  called  my  honesty,  as  well  as 
the  receipt  of  the  money.  He  told  me  the  old 
cupboard  had  been  possessed  by  his  family  for 
many  generations ;  and  it  was  only  on  that  account 
that  he  had  not  broken  up  the  unsightly  old  thing 
years  ago.  He  supposed  the  gold  must  have  been 
hidden  in  the  drawer,  for  safe-keeping,  in  the  time 
of  the  'Thirty  Years'  War;'  those  lawless  days, 
when  persons  were  obliged  to  secrete  almost  every- 
thing, to  secure  it  from  the  violence  of  marauding 
soldiers.  Of  course,  the  money  belonged  to  him, 
but  he  was  no  niggard ;  he  took  one  of  the  rou- 
leaux, and  giving  it  to  me,  wished  me  'good 
luck!'  I  accepted  it  without  hesitation;  and  going 
back  to  Eugene,  who  had  risen  from  the  floor,  and 
was  again  seated  at  the  window,  apparently  in 
great  trouble,  I  laid  the  whole  of  it  in  his  cap. 

"  'Now  go  to  our  master,'  said  I ;  '  pay  what  he 
asks  as  the  price  of  your  last  year,  and  to-morrow 
43* 


256  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

morning  we  will  pack  up  our  traps,  and  set  out  for 
Silesia.'  Eugene  stared  at  me  in  mute  wonder ; 
then,  throwing  his  arms  around  my  neck,  he  em- 
braced me  warmly  for  a  moment,  and  without 
uttering  a  word,  rushed -out  of  the  house. 

*'  I  did  not  attempt  to  follow,  nor  question  him  ; 
but  having  no  doubt  that  he  would  do  as  I  advised, 
I  walked  down  into  the  village,  and  purchased  two 
portmanteaus,  dreaming  of  nothing  else  than  that 
we  should  both  set  out  on  our  journey- the  next 
morning.  I  was  greatly  astonished,  on  my  return, 
at  not  being  able  to  find  Eugene.  I  asked  the 
children  —  they  did  not  know  where  he  was;  I 
applied  to  Horwitz  —  he  had  seen  nothing  of  him. 
It  was  evident  he  had  not  gone  to  him  with  the 
money  I  had  given  him,  as  our  master  was  at  home 
the  whole  day.  As  the  day  advanced,  I  became 
more  and  more  uneasy;  evening  fell,  but  the  truant 
did  not  return.  I  proposed  to  Horwitz  that  we 
should  seek  him,  and  he  consented ;  but  we  both 
had  to  return  without  having  found  him. 

"  Horwitz  went  to  bed ;  but,  uncertain  what  I 
ought  to  do,  I  could  not  sleep;  I  therefore  resolved 
to  sit  up  awhile,  in  hope  of  his  coining.  After  an 
hour  or  two  had  passed,  I  heard  a  knock  at  the 
door.  I  knew  whose  it  was,  and  hastened  joyfully 
to  open  it,  when  Eugene,  with  flushed  and  inflamed 
features,  stood  before  me.  But  you  may  imagine 
how  1  felt  when  I  saw  that  he  was  beastly  drunk ; 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  257 

he  laughed  wildly  when  he  saw  me,  and  when  I 
enquired  where  he  had  been,  he  answered,  in  all 
the  pride  of  drunken  insolence, — '  What  business 
is  it  of  yours  ?  Do  you  think  you  are  to  be  my 
master,  because  you  gave  me  some  money  that  you 
earned  very  easily  ?  0,  it  has  flown  away  as 
lightly  as  it  came !  See  there !  my  pocket  is 
empty,  and  I  am  under  no  obligation  to  you.' 

u  A  sad  foreboding  arose  in  my  heart,  of  which 
the  tidings  of  the  next  day  fully  verified  the  truth. 
Instead  of  going  to  seek  our  master  in  his  own 
house,  Eugene  went  to  a  miserable  ale-house  in  the 
suburbs  (it  seemed  he  was  in  the  habit  of  frequent- 
ing it,  unknown  to  me) ;  on  this  holiday  occasion, 
he  found  many  apprentices  there;  and  among 
them,  one  haughty  boy,  rather  richer  than  the 
rest,  and  being  the  only  son  of  a  doting  mother, 
he  had  money  at  all  times,  and  for  all  purposes. 
This  youth  had  never  liked  Eugene,  and  now,  in  a 
mocking  manner,  asked  him  'if  he  would  not  treat 
the  company  to  wine ;  as  he  had  always  given 
himself  out  to  be  a  nobleman's  son,  he  ought  to 
show,  by  his  liberality,  that  he  really  was  so. 
Eugene,  too  hot-headed  to  treat  this  silly  speech 
from  one  half-drunk  with  the  contempt  it  deserved, 
called  loudly  for  wine,  tossed  a  piece  of  gold  pom- 
pously on  the  table,  in  payment,  and  boasted  that 
he  had  plenty  more.  He  pledged  his  companions, 
and  drank  deeply ;  the  wine  mounted  to  his  brain, 


258  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

and  he  began  to  look  with  great  interest  on  a  party 
of  strangers,  who  were  playing  cards  at  a  table 
near  him.  He  saw  how  easily  large  suras  were 
won — why  might  not  the  same  good  fortune  be 
his?  Then  he  could  have  enough  to  spend  upon 
pleasures  he  had  not  known  for  a  long  time,  and 
without  the  striving  and  grinding  of  perpetual  toil. 
He  knew  the  game ah!  Ehrenfried!  you  re- 
member how  we  used  to  tell  you  of  the  Hausdorff 
children  driving  the  time  away  with  playing  cards 
—  and  when  the  strangers  at  last  invited  him  to 
join  their  party,  he  was  only  too  willing  to  accept 
of  the  invitation.  At  first,  he  won  considerably ; 
and  his  spirits  rose  as  he  contemplated  the  sum 
that  lay  beside  him.  What  I  had  given  him  was 
to  pay  for  his  freedom  —  the  little  we  both  had 
would  only  serve  to  defray  the  expense  of  a  jour- 
ney on  foot ;  but  Eugene  had  a  spirit  above  this, 
that  is,  when  it  could  be  helped.  How  much 
better,  and  how  much  more  suitable  it  would  be, 
for  the  heir  of  the  Von  Grosse  family  to  go  home 
in  a  post-chaise;  'his  father  never  travelled  with  a 
knapsack  on  his  back,  like  a  wandering  tinker,  and 
he  would  not  disgrace  his  family  by  doing  so.' 

"  He  staked  more  than  all  he  had  won ;  and 
with  beating  heart,  and  trembling  hands,  watched 
the  course  of  the  cards.  He  lost — and  as  part  of 
the  money  I  had  given  him  to  pay  for  his  freedom, 
was  gone,  with  that  desperation  which  always 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  259 

marks  the  gambler,  he  determined  to  risk  what  yet 
remained,  in  the  hope  of  winning  back  that  which 
was  lost.  With  feelings  of  increasing  anguish,  he 
staked  one  thaler  after  another,  until  he  had  emp- 
tied his  pockets  of  every  farthing.  The  players, 
seeing  he  had  nothing  more  to  lose,  now  rose  up 
from  the  table,  and  declared  the  play  was  ended. 
To  this,  however,  Eugene  would  by  no  means  con- 
sent ;  he  insisted  that  they  should  continue  the 
game,  so  as  to  give  him  a  chance  of  retrieving  his 
losses ;  he  said  he  would  go  home  for  more  money, 
which  he  could  easily  get  by  applying  to  me. 

"  The  players  then  began  to  inquire  who  he 
was ;  and  finding  that  he  was  only  a  cabinet- 
maker's apprentice,  became  very  angry ;  they 
reproached  him  with  having  deceived  them  by 
representing  himself  as  the  son  of  a  nobleman,  so 
that  he  might  thrust  himself  into  better  company 
than  that  to  which  his  birth  entitled  him;  and  this, 
as  may  well  be  supposed  from  our  knowledge  of  his 
character,  provoking  an  insolent  answer,  brought 
on  a  contest  which  ended  by  their  throwing  him 
out  into  the  street. 

"  It  was  not  until  the  evening  of  the  next  day 
that  Eugene  was  sober  enough  to  give  me  these 
particulars.  Ashamed  of  his  behavior,  and  sin- 
cerely repentant,  he  begged  me  no  longer  to  delay 
my  journey  into  Silesia ;  to  find  his  parents,  if 
possible,  and  send  his  father  to  liberate  him.  I 


260  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

considered  this  the  safest,  as  well  as  the  shortest 
plan ;  and  so,  shouldering  my  knapsack,  I  bade 
farewell  to  my  master,  and  to  Eugene,  who  stood 
looking  after  me  with  a  face  expressive  of  so  much 
sorrow,  that  I  was  once  almost  tempted  to  return, 
and  stay  to  work  out  the  time  demanded  for  his 
ransom.  But  prudence  prevailed  over  sympathy. 
My  heart  grew  lighter  as  each  mile  lessened  the 
distance  between  myself  and  Steinrode ;  and  as  I 
saw  the  sterile  plains  of  Poland  gradually  exchange 
for  the  cultivated  fields  of  Germany  —  as  the  glo- 
rious mountains  of  my  Fatherland  shut  out  the 
view  of  that  inhospitable  and  despotic  region  where 
I  had  so  long  been  made  to  bear  the  yoke  of  sla- 
very, I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  felt.  It  was  joy — 
pure,  unmitigated  joy.  I  was  proud  of  having 
been  born  a  son  of  Teutonic  forefathers — I  gloried 
that  mine  was  the  land  of  learning  and  invention 
—  and  this  high  tide  of  enthusiasm  did  not  at  all 
subside  until  I  saw  the  Silesian  hills.  The  Giant's 
Crest,  with  his  mantle  of  eternal  snow  —  old  Zob- 
tenberg,  with  his  cap  full  of  storms  —  there  they 
were,  looking  just  as  they  had  done  in  the  happy 
days  of  my  boyhood;  but  my  spirits  sunk  when  I 
thought  of  those  who  had  looked  upon  them  with 
me  —  ah  !  where  were  they  ?  I  journeyed  on  ;  I 
recollected  hamlets  and  fields — I  hailed  the  towers 
of  Steinrode  from  afar  —  there  was  the  forest,  the 
brook,  and  the  park  :  but  although  T  met  many 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  261 

forms  wearing  the  peasant  dress  once  so  familiar, 
there  was  not  one  face  whose  lineaments  reminded 
me  of  any  one  I  had  ever  known.  You  know  the 
rest,  Ehrenfried ;  and  now,  perhaps  you  can  give 
me  some  clue  whereby  I  can  find  the  Von  Grosse 
family  ;  for  in  my  own  happiness,  I  must  not  for- 
get that  Eugene  is  still  in  slavery,  and  waiting  for 
his  father  to  release  him." 

This  was  a  question  which  neither  Ehrenfried 
nor  his  patron  could  answer,  and  Felix  was  obliged 
to  await  the  coming  of  his  family ;  they  alone,  it 
was  likely,  knew  to  what  part  of  the  country  they 
had  withdrawn.  In  the  few  months  they  had  lived 
in  this  neighborhood,  their  conduct  had  not  been 
such  as  to  create  many  friends;  arid  so,  when  they 
left,  no  one  cared  to  enquire  whither  they  had 
gone,  or  how  they  fared. 

Mr.  Norman  treated  Felix  as  if  he  had  been  his 
own  son,  bidding  him  consider  himself  at  liberty 
to  do  at  Steinrode  just  as  he  had  been  used  to  in 
by-gone  days  ;  and  the  latter  was  rejoiced  to  find 
in  Ehrenfried,  now  grown  to  be  a  man,  the  same 
unassuming,  gentle  spirit,  he  had  so  loved  him  for 
when  a  child.  Entirely  unspoiled  by  his  pros- 
perity, and  the  indulgence  shown  him  by  his 
eccentric  patron,  Felix  found  him  even  more  worthy 
of  the  friendship  he  had  formed  with  him  in  earlier 
days — need  we  say  it  was  again  warmly  renewed  ? 

But  with  all  this  happiness  around  him.  his  heart 


262  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

pined  for  the  arrival  of  his  family.  In  the  morn- 
ing, he  would  be  sure  that  ere  that  day's  sun  had 
sped  his  course,  he  would  have  been  folded  to  his 
mother's  heart;  but  day  after  day  passed,  and  still 
they  came  not.  The  sickening  pang  of  hope 
deferred  began  to  weigh  heavily  upon  our  hero's 
heart ;  and  it  was  only  by  being  kept  busy  in 
carrying  out  the  plan  of  his  singular  host,  namely, 
to  make  everything  look  as  much  as  possible  as 
they  did  when  the  family  left  Steinrode,  that  he 
was  able  to  control  his  impatience  to  be  with  them. 
It  was  indeed  no  small  relief  to  his  nervous  longing 
for  their  arrival,  that  he  was  obliged  to  direct 
everything ;  the  furniture  must  be  placed  just  as 
it  had  been  when  they  dwelt  here — the  curtains  all 
put  up  —  and  whatever  articles  of  English  comfort 
had  found  their  way  among  the  heavy  specimens 
of  German  house-keeping,  were,  by  the  orders  of 
Mr.  Norman,  laid  aside. 

But  in  the  garden,  his  task  was  peculiarly  plea- 
sant ;  his  memory  bore  the  truest  record  of  all  as 
it  had  been  arranged  there.  There,  under  that 
linden,  and  beside  those  beautiful  oleanders,  the 
little  bench  was  placed,  where  his  mother,  on  sum- 
mer afternoons,  would  sit  to  work  or  read.  The 
bench  had  decayed,  and  fallen  down,  but  he  had  it 
renewed.  There,  on  the  other  side,  in  a  corres- 
ponding shade,  had  stood  the  table  around  which 
they  had  often  sat,  when  choosing  to  take  their 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  263 

evening  meal  in  the  open  air.  The  old  camp-chairs 
had  been  stored  away ;  but  now,  brought  out  from 
their  dusty  nook  in  an  unused  corner  of  the  castle, 
they  were  again  placed  around  it,  as  though  the 
family  had  just  arisen  from  the  repast.  Nor  was 
the  old  gymnasium  forgotten  —  the  two  youths 
entered  heart  and  hand  in  this  ;  it  was  neatly  put 
up  again,  and  the  space  around  it  filled  with  fine 
sand. 

Their  business  of  arranging  was  nearly  com- 
pleted, when  one  evening,  Mr.  Norman  received  a 
letter  from  the  Baron,  telling  him  they  might  be 
expected  on  the  next  day.  0,  how  happy  was 
Felix  !  he  read  the  letter  again  and  again  ;  and 
although  he  passed  a  sleepless  night,  he  was  up  by 
daylight,  to  put  the  finishing  touches  to  what  was 
already  begun.  Garlands  of  flowers,  such  as  the 
sisters  used  to  make  to  decorate  the  walls  of  the 
vestibule  and  the  old  stone  hall,  were  not  wanting. 
They  waved  in  graceful  festoons  from  the  antlers 
of  slaughtered  deer,  that  hung  there  as  trophies 
of  some  chase-loving  ancestor's  skill;  Ehrenfried 
and  Felix,  themselves  not  wanting  in  taste  for 
flowers,  succeeded  well  in  this ;  for  who  does  not 
succeed,  when  the  labor  is  one  of  love  ?  Nothing 
was  forgotten.  Vases  filled  with  flowers,  remem- 
bered to  have  been  favorites  with  his  mother,  were 
placed  in  the  chamber  formerly  her  own ;  on  the 
garden-table,  lay  a  volume  which  she  had  always 
44 


264  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

loved  to  read;  and  near  it,  to  bring  back  as  nearly 
as  possible  the  appearances  of  other  years,  a  little 
basket,  full  of  keys  borrowed  from  the  house- 
keeper, was  seen — a  gentle  hint  that  Lady  Linden- 
burg  was  not  deficient  nor  negligent  in  a  matter 
involving  so  much  of  comfort  as  does  the  know- 
ledge of  being  able  to  conduct  and  manage  the 
affairs  of  a  large  household. 

The  day  passed  on,  and  Time,  who  neither 
hastens  nor  delays  his  course,  brought  round  the 
hours  at  which  they  might  begin  to  look  out  for 
the  carriages  in  which  they  were  to  travel.  At 
length  they  were  in  sight. 

"Can  it  be  possible!"  thought  Felix,  "that 
within  this  hour  I  shall  meet  my  parents.  But 
the  meeting  with  my  mother — it  will  not  do  to 
surprise  her ;  I  must  not  come  to  before  her  until 
Mr.  Norman  or  Ehrenfried  has  told  her  all;"  and 
scarcely  able  to  restrain  his  own  impatience,  he 
retreated  to  a  small  patch  of  shrubbery  in  the 
garden,  himself  concealed  by  the  friendly  thicket, 
where  he  could  see  and  hear  all. 

The  carriage  drove  up  to  the  hall  door,  and  its 
occupants  alighted.  Felix's  heart  beat  audibly,  as 
two  well-remembered  forms  ascended  the  stone 
steps  that  led  up  to  the  hall — could  they  really  be 
those  of  his  parents  —  after  nearly  nine  years  of 
absence  and  sore  trial,  did  he  truly  behold  them, 
or  was  it  only  a  dream,  such  as  he  had  often  had 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  265 

in  sleep.  The  lady  turned  her  head  towards  the 
spot  where  Felix  was  concealed,  and  her  features 
were  distinctly  revealed  to  the  anxious  son,  who 
could  scarcely  resist  the  impulse  he  felt  to  rush 
forward  to  meet  her.  But  one  glance  was  suffi- 
cient to  show  him  how  greatly  nine  years  had 
changed  those  features.  She  looked  much  older, 
was  very  pale,  and  her  step  was  feeble  and  languid. 
Ah  !  sorrow  records  her  march  much  more  strongly 
than  time !  her  impressions  are  sterner  and  even 
more  indelible ! 

But  who  are  those  tall,  slender  maidens,  grace- 
ful and  elegant  as  those  brought  up  in  court  atmo- 
sphere, who,  bounding  up  the  steps,  stood  gazing 
round  on  the  prospect,  as  if  too  much  delighted  in 
viewing  the  beauties  without,  to  think  of  exchang- 
ing the  sight  for  the  comforts  within  —  could  they 
be  his  sisters,  the  joyous  companions  of  his  child- 
hood ;  who,  wild  as  the  birds  of  Steinrode  forest, 
had  gambolled  over  the  very  spot  with  himself? 

He  had  almost  called  aloud  to  them  — an  excla- 
mation of  joy  was  ready  to  burst  from  his  lips ; 
but  he  restrained  it.  He  pressed  his  hands  close 
upon  his  wildly  throbbing  heart,  a  film  over- 
shadowed his  eyes,  and  he  was  near  fainting. 

They  entered  the  castle,  but  it  was  only  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  to  lay  off  their  travelling  mantles. 
The  Baron  and  Lady  Lindenburg  were  talking  to 
their  host ;  and  the  happy  maidens  felt  at  liberty 


266     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

to  run  wherever  they  pleased.  They  chose  the 
garden  first;  although  not  strictly  within  the  rule 
of  politeness,  they  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  visit  those  never-forgotten  spots  where  their 
childish  sports  had  been  enjoyed. 

The  sun  was  near  setting,  and  their  English  host 
had  directed  an  early  supper,  or  rather  lunch,  to 
be  set  out  on  the  table  in  the  garden.  The  air 
was  mild  and  balmy ;  and  the  soft  shadows  cast 
by  the  overhanging  branches  on  the  spot  below, 
made  this  particularly  pleasant  to  those  who  (as  is 
much  the  usage  in  Europe,)  are  accustomed  to 
take  their  evening  meal  in  the  open  air. 

Baron  and  Lady  Lindenburg  and  their  host  were 
now  seen  advancing  to  the  spot  where  the  servants 
had  spread  out  the  repast.  The  latter  called  his 
guests'  attention  to  some  English  improvement  he 
had  made ;  and  while  the  gentlemen  stopped  to 
examine  it,  the  mother  walked  forward  to  join  her 
daughters  in  the  garden. 

This  was  the  time  chosen  by  Mr.  Norman  to 
make  the  disclosure  of  Felix's  existence  and 
presence :  but  he  had  a  roundabout  way  of  his 
own  for  doing  every  thing ;  and  he  must  finish 
talking  over  his  English  fixtures  before  he  entered 
on  the  subject  in  which  Baron  Lindenburg  might 
well  be  supposed  to  be  most  interested.  Before 
he  had  concluded  the  first  part  of  his  conversation 
the  denouement  had  been  made.  Lady  Linden- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  267 

burg,  as  we  stated,  left  the  gentlemen  to  join  her 
daughters.  Little  Pauline  of  other  days  \v.is  now 
a  lively  girl  of  fourteen  ;  her  eyes  were  as  blue  and 
gentle  as  ever ;  she  carried  her  straw  bonnet  hang- 
ing by  its  strings  carelessly  over  her  arm,  her 
bright  curls  floating  in  the  summer  breeze,  and  her 
fair  features  radiant  with  health  and  happiness. 
Not  altogether  out  of  the  ranks  of  childhood,  not- 
withstanding her  rapid  growth,  she  bounded  on 
before  the  rest,  skipping  through  walk  and  alley, 
as  frolicsome  as  at  the  earlier  period  of  our  story. 
At  one  end  of  the  gravelled  path  she  suddenly 
stopped  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  ; 
for  there,  right  in  the  way  before  her,  was  a  little 
carriage  made  of  basket-work,  full  of  dolls,  and 
strewn  over  with  flowers. 

';  0,  mother,  dear  mother,  only  look  here,"  she 
exclaimed,  as  she  bent  over  what  had  once  been 
her  favorite  possession ;  "  surely  some  kind  fairy 
has  brought  my  old  waggon  from  Elfland,  to  remind 
me  of  my  childhood's  Paradise.  Just  see,  Adie — 
Emma,  there  is  Rosalie,  my  own  sweet  wax  doll 
that  poor  Felix  gave  me  for  a  Christmas  gift.  Ah  ; 
poor,  dear  Felix ! "  she  stopped,  for  the  sisters 
made  a  sign  that  this  was  a  subject  on  which  their 
mother  had  better  not  be  agitated ;  and  while  they 
stood  smiling  and  wondering  over  the  little  toy 
waggon,  a  canary  bird  set  up  his  sweet  warbling 
just  above  their  heads.  Pauline  looked  up. 
44* 


268  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

"0,  what  a  good  fairy  this  has  been,  tc  take 
such  care  of  all  that  belonged  to  me  —  there  is 
Peepy,  my  own  Peepy  !  "  she  exclaimed,  clapping 
her  hands  in  joyful  glee.  "  Arn  I  not  happy  !  how 
much  rather  I  would  live  in  the  country  !  I  do  wish 
father  would  stay  here  all  the  time  ;  it  is  so  much 
more  pleasant  to  look  at  the  fields  and  mountains, 
and  hear  the  birds,  than  to  be  pent  up  among  high 
brick  walls  and  narrow  streets,  in  the  capital." 

"That  is  not  Peepy,  I  am  sure,"  said  Emma, 
laughing;  "Peepy  would  be  too  old  to  sing  so 
lively ;  but  I  think  the  new  warbler  must  be  a 
relation,  he  is  so  much  like  the  the  old  bird.  But 
I  agree  with  you  in  liking  the  country  the  best," 
she  continued,  as  she  broke  a  branch  of  blooming 
Euphrasy  from  its  graceful  stem,  and  twined  it 
into  the  curls  of  the  happy  Pauline,  who,  forget- 
ful of  the  years  that  had  passed,  was  a  child  again, 
amusing  herself  as  she  used  to  do  long  ago,  by 
drawing  her  doll-laden  wagon  along  the  walk. 

"Indeed,  Adie,"  said  Emma,  "there  is  no  con- 
cert that  I  have  heard  in  the  capital  half  so  fine 
as  that  I  have  heard  from  the  larks  this  morning, 
as  we  travelled  at  sunrise.  How  sweetly  their 
songs  rose  from  the  ripe  green  fields  on  which  the 
dew-drops,  glittered  like  diamonds  in  the  crown 
of  a  prince.  Indeed,  I  wish  with  Pauline,  father 
would  stay  in  the  country." 

"A';l    give  up  the  Opera,  the  glorious  court- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  269 

ball,  and  the  parade  of  the  royal  guards,  held  just 
before  our  window?"  asked  Adelaide,  smiling. 

"0,  I  know  what  you  mean,"  was  the  laughing 
answer ;  "  you  are  jeering  me  now,  Adie,  because 
at  first  I  expressed  my  great  admiration  for  those 
things ;  but  the  charm  of  novelty  was  soon  over, 
and  I  often  \\ished  myself  back  here  among  those 
green  and  odorous  woods,  resounding  with  the  song 
of  birds.  I  longed  for  the  flower-beds  I  had  made 
myself,  and  where  I  found  more  pleasure  in  watch- 
ing the  seeds  spring  up,  than  in  all  the  exotics  in 
painted  vases,  with  which  the  court  gardener  used 
to  send  to  decorate  our  parlor ;  and  this  morning, 
as  I  saw  the  merry  calves  and  lambs,  as  they  were 
let  loose  from  the  stable,  how  they  skipped  and 
played,  I  could  not  help  confessing  how  much  more 
amusing  it  was  to  watch  their  movements,  than  the 
stiff  manoeuvres  of  the  royal  guard.  That  does 
very  well  for  a  little  while ;  but  it  is  the  same 
thing  over  and  over  again,  and  one  soon  tires  of 
it.  But  when  I  lived  here  I  never  grew  weary  of 
anything." 

"Not  even  of  spinning  worsted?"  asked  Adie, 
smiling  mischievously. 

"  0,  that  was  long  ago,"  was  Emma's  answer. 

By  this  time  they  had  approached  quite  close  to 
the  spot  where  Felix  was  concealed  by  the  shrub- 
bery. The  beating  of  his  heart  became  painful, 
and  hardly  to  be  borne. 


270     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

"  Is  it  not  wonderful,  mother,"  asked  Pauline, 
"that  things  are  so  little  altered?  I  can  scarcely 
realize  that  nearly  eight  years  have  passed  since 
we  left  Steinrode,  all  is  so  much  the  same.  It 
must  be  that  kind  Ehrenfried  who  has  prepared  all 
this  for  our  reception ;  but  why  is  he  not  here  to 
welcome  us  ?  Nothing  is  wanting  but " 

"Felix,  my  lost  son  Felix!"  sighed  the  mother, 
and  she  covered  her  streaming  eyes  with  trembling 
hands.  Convulsive  sobs  burst  from  her,  in  spite 
of  her  efforts  for  self-control.  The  sisters,  cluster- 
ing round  her,  supported  her  in  their  sustaining 
arms ;  and  deeply  grieved  to  see  her  thus  shaken, 
essayed  to  speak  words  of  comfort.  But  just  then 
a  rustling  in  the  shrubbery  attracted  their  atten- 
tion ;  and  not  without  some  alarm  they  beheld  a 
strange  youth  emerge  from  the  recess,  and  ap- 
proach the  group  with  form  and  features  visibly 
agitated  by  some  great  emotion.  But  ere  they 
had  time  to  express  surprise,  or  call  for  assistance, 
the  stranger  rushed  forward  and  fell  at  the  feet  of 
the  weeping  mother.  She  looked  up — the  maternal 
heart  keeps  its  own  record — one  glance  was  enough 
for  recognition — the  flashing  glance,  expressive  of 
the  joy  of  his  soul,  that  spoke  from  the  blue 
eyes  of  her  never-forgotten  boy,  was  all-sufficient. 

"Felix!  my  own  lost  Felix !  whence  hast  thou 
come!"  was  all  that  she  could  utter;  and  com- 
pletely overcome,  she  sunk  fainting  in  the  arms  of 
v  long-lost  son. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  271 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"He  meets  the  roughness  of  the  middle  waste, 
Far  from  the  track  and  blest  abode  of  men  ; 
While  round  him  night  resistless  closes  fast; 
And  every  tempest,  howling  o'er  his  head, 
Renders  the  savage  wilderness  more  wild." 

IT  was  a  wild  and  stormy  night ;  fierce  blasts 
from  the  north,  and  tempestuous  drivings  of  rain 
swept  round  the  lonely  forest  lodge  in  the  Hartz 
mountains;  the  old  trees  groaned  and  creaked, 
tossing  their  half-denuded  branches  wildly,  as  if  in 
despair  for  the  unequal  battle  they  were  waging 
against  the  strife  of  elements.  No  living  creature 
was  to  be  seen  abroad  ;  men  and  cattle  had  alike 
sought  a  place  of  shelter.  Fires  burned  brightly 
in  the  dwellings,  whose  closed  windows  and  doors 
were  barred  alike  against  intruders  and  the  cold. 

The  evening  had  long  since  deepened  into  night, 
when  a  pale,  wayworn,  and  thinly  clad  wanderer 
knocked  at  the  outer  door  of  the  forest  house,  and 
begged  admittance.  It  was  sometime  before  any 
movement  was  heard  from  within ;  at  length  a 
peasant  maiden  opened  it,  and  cautiously  looking 
out,  asked  him  what  he  wanted,  at  the  same  time 
bidding  him  to  make  the  least  noise,  as  there  was 
a  sick  person  within.  He  shook  the  rain-drops 


272  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

from  his  thread-bare  clothing,  and  humbly  begged 
for  shelter  through  the  night.  He  had  lost  his  way 
in  the  darkness,  and  had  wandered  through  the 
forest  until  completely  exhausted ;  "  and  surely," 
he  added,  "  if  you  have  any  compassion  for  crea- 
tures of  your  own  kind,  you  will  not,  in  such  a 
fearful  night,  refuse  a  place  of  shelter  to  one  sick 
and  astray." 

The  peasant  girl  grumbled  something  forth  which 
sounded  like  "you  had  better  go  elsewhere;  we 
do  not  keep  an  ale-house,  in  which  to  lodge  stran- 
gers; the  village  is  only  three  miles  distant;"  when 
her  mutterings  were  interrupted  by  a  young  girl 
dressed  in  deep  mourning ;  who,  opening  an  inner 
door,  looked  out,  and  enquired,  in  a  soft  and  gentle 
tone,  "Marie,  did  I  not  hear  some  one  speaking?" 

"Oh!  such  a  savage-looking  man!"  whispered 
Marie,  in  answer  to  her  enquiry ;  "  his  face  all 
covered  with  moustache  and  beard;  he  looks  like  a 
very  suspicious  character,  and  takes  our  nice  forest 
lodge  for  an  ale-house.  I  am  sure  he  must  be 
some  vagabond  soldier,  for  there  are  plenty  of 
them  running  about.  It  is  always  dangerous  to 
harbor  them,  and  then  to-night  we  are  all  alone ; 

for  Triva  the  huntsman  has  not  returned  from  S 

where  he  went  to  sell  skins.  If  he  could  not  travel 
on  account  of  the  badness  of  the  weather  to-night, 
you  may  be  sure  this  fellow  means  no  good  in 
running  about  in  such  a  storm." 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  278 

"Forgive  me,  lady,"  begged  the  stranger,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  humility  ;  "  I  mean  you  no  harm.  I 
have  been  wandering  in  this  unknown  region, 
without  knowing  one  step  of  the  way ;  and  it  is 
the  third  night  I  have  been  unable  to  procure 
lodging  under  a  roof — the  damp  earth  of  the  forest 
has  been  my  only  bed,  and  I  have  been  an  invalid 
for  some  time.  If  you  will  only  give  me  a  bundle 
of  straw  in  a  corner,  or  even  in  the  stable " 

"Poor  man!"  interrupted  the  maiden;  "we 
would  be  hard-hearted  indeed,  were  we  to  refuse 
you  what  you  ask,  in  such  a  frightful  night  as  this. 
I  cannot  say  'go  farther.'  You  are  a  stranger  to 
us — you  have  heard  we  are  alone — we  two  helpless 
women — and  my  mother  is  very  ill ;  come  in,  then, 
but  be  very  quiet,  as  the  least  noise  will  make  her 
worse.  Marie  shall  get  you  some  warm  supper, 
and  make  up  a  straw  bed  for  you ;  more  than  this, 
I  have  not  to  offer." 

The  stranger  thanked  her,  and  would  have  fol- 

o  * 

lowed  the  grumbling  damsel  to  the  kitchen ;  but 
Melanie  (for  it  is  herself  we  recognise  in  the 
mourning  garments  of  an  orphan),  again  spoke, 
and  her  voice  —  oh !  how  unlike  that  of  the  impe- 
rious Melanie  of  former  years — fell  sweet  as  sounds 
from  Heaven  on  the  ears  of  the  wanderer. 

"  Come  into  this  room,  there  is  a  good  fire  here. 
You  are  wet  through,  and  look  sick ;  but  be  very 


274     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

quiet,  for  my  mother  is  sleeping  now,  and  every 
thing  depends  on  her  not  being  disturbed." 

She  gave  him  a  chair  in  the  corner,  beside  the 
brightly-blazing  fire ;  arid  placing  herself  before 
a  spinning-wheel  which  stood  beside  a  table  on 
which  a  small  iron  lamp,  such  as  was  used  by  the 
commonest  peasants,  was  burning,  she  began  most 
industriously  to  spin.  The  stranger  spread  out  his 
broad  hands  to  meet  the  warmth  of  the  cheerful 
blaze  ;  and,  soon  revived  by  the  genial  glow,  began 
to  look  round  the  plain  and  scantily  furnished 
room  ;  he  noted  but  little  of  what  it  contained,  for 
his  gaze  was  riveted  on  the  fair  features  of  the 
maiden.  She  was  tall,  slender,  and  very  pale ;  an 
expression  of  deep  sadness,  not  natural  in  one  so 
young,  rested  on  her  face ;  her  soft  and  glossy 
brown  hair  was  parted  over  her  white  forehead, 
and  simply  braided  in  a  comb.  No  ornament  of 
beads,  tinsel,  or  riband,  such  as  the  peasant 
maidens  love  to  display,  found  a  place  on  her 
person.  She  wore  a  coarse,  but  clean  linen  apron 
over  her  black  dress,  which  was  made  of  no  fine 
material ;  and  the  stranger  remarked  that  her 
whole  figure  and  bearing  wore  a  stamp  of  some- 
thing like  nobility,  although  her  hands,  once  so 
soft  and  delicate,  were  now  as  red  and  rough  as 
those  accustomed  to  the  rudest  work. 

At  the  least  rustle  or  movement  from  the  inner 
chamber,  she  would  stop  her  wheel  to  listen,  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  275 

Steal  cautiously  into  the  sick  room,  to  watch  the 
feverish  breathing  of  the  sick  slumberer.  Marie 
brought  in  some  warm  supper  for  the  stranger; 
half  famished  as  he  was,  even  this  did  riot  divert 
him  from  his  scrutiny  of  the  maiden.  And  as  he 
hastily  devoured  the  food,  so  grateful  to  one  in  his 
circumstances,  with  still  increasing  sympathy,  for 
which  himself  could  not  account,  he  continued  still 
to  gaze  on  her,  watching  every  movement  and  turn 
of  feature  with  an  interest  almost  painful  to  him- 
self, although  he  could  divine  no  cause  by  which  it 
was  called  forth. 

The  hours  wore  away  far  into  the  night,  yet  she 
relaxed  not  her  industry  ;  she  spun  as  though  life 
and  death  hung  upon  the  completion  of  her  task ; 
and  when  her  weary  eyelids  fell,  and  she  nodded 
over  the  wheel  which  she  turned  mechanically,  she 
would  rouse  herself  again,  and  spin  only  the  more 
vigorously,  as  if  to  atone  for  the  momentary  inter- 
ruption. 

At  length  Marie  entered  with  a  lamp  in  her 
hand  ;  she,  mentioning  that  she  had  prepared  a 
bed  for  the  stranger,  asked  her  "if  she  did  not 
know  it  was  midnight,  or  had  she  no  intention  of 
going  to  bed  at  all  that  night?" 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  can,",  answered  the  in- 
terrogated ;  "my  work  is  not  done;  and  did  you 
not  tell  me  the  yarn  merchant  would  be  here  early 
in  the  morning?" 
45 


276  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

"  Yes,  I  did  say  so,  but  what  of  that  ?  You 
have  not  slept  for  two  whole  nights,  and  such 
doings  will  make  you  sick,"  said  the  peasant  girl. 
"  The  yarn  merchant  will  not  care  if  you  dis- 
appoint him  ;  for  he  will  come  again  in  a  week  or 
so,  and  you  can  give  him  the  yarn  then,  if  it  is 
not  ready  now." 

"You  do  not  know  all,  Marie,"  answered  Melanie, 
with  a  slight  blush ;  "  he  is  to  bring  me  something 

I  sent  for  by  him,  when  he  went  to  S .  to 

market  —  a  little  jar  of  raspberry  jelly,  and  some 
other  articles  that  my  mother  wanted.  Ah  !  she 
longed  so  much  to  have  them ;  but  she  does  not 
know  I  sent.  So  you  see,  Marie,  I  must  finish  my 
task,  so  as  to  be  able  to  pay  for  them ;  and  after 
that  —  0  I  will  sleep  gloriously!" 

"  What  do  you  think  your  mother  would  say  if 
she  knew  you  had  set  up  working  for  two  whole 
nights  to  procure  these  things?"  asked  Marie  ;  "  the 
upshot  of  the  thing  is,  you  will  be  sick,  and  my 
mistress  more  troubled  than  all  that  you  have  done 
for  her  comfort  is  worth." 

"  Hush Marie  !  "  whispered  Melanie,  glan- 
cing at  the  stranger.  "  You  won't  tell  mother,  I 
know ;  you  would  not  spoil  my  pleasure  so  much, 
I  am  sure.  And  now,  my  good  girl,  go  to  bed ; 
rest  is  more  needful  for  you  than  myself." 

The  damsel,  finding  she  was  not  to  be  moved 
from  her  purpose,  poured  some  oil  in  the  now  dimly 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  277 

burning  lamp  that  stood  on  the  table ;  and  having 
re-lighted  her  own,  prepared  to  leave  the  room, 
first  telling  the  stranger  she  would  show  him  where 
to  sleep,  and  bidding  Melanie  "good  night." 

"  Give  the  stranger  the  woollen  comforter, 
Marie,"  Melanie  called  after  her ;  "  the  garret 
room  is  so  cold  —  I  wish  we  had  a  warm  bed  to 
give  him." 

"  A  thousand  thanks  for  your  kindness,  lady," 
said  the  rough-looking  stranger,  completely  over- 
come by  the  gentleness  of  the  maiden ;  a  quality, 
the  exhibition  of  which  he  but  seldom  met  with, 
directed  to  himself;  he  sighed  deeply,  as  though 
oppressed  with  painful  recollections,  and  following 
the  servant  girl,  began  to  ascend  the  rude  stairs 
which  led  to  the  garret  chamber,  through  which 
the  winds  whistled  and  swept,  as  though  they  were 
keeping  high  holiday. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  he  to  Marie,  as  they  left  the 
room,  "  is  this  family  so  poor  that  the  young  girl 
has  to  spin  all  night  in  order  to  procure  comfort 
for  her  sick  mother?  Has  she  no  husband  —  has 
she  no  father  ?  I  mean,  is  the  kind  maiden  an 
orphan  ? " 

"  She  is,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  her  father  died  six 
months  ago ;  and  since  then  her  mother,  giving 
herself  up  to  grief,  has  been  more  sickly  than 
before.  But  it  is  not  only  grief  now  they  have  to 
bear,  but  trouble,  too.  The  new  forester  is  to 


278  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

come  in  a  few  weeks  to  take  possession  of  his  place  ; 
they  will  then  have  to  leave  this  house  and  forest- 
wood  that  they  love  so  well,  for  he  has  a  large 
family,  and  they  will  want  all  the  room  that  they 
can  get.  What  Madame  and  Melanie  will  do, 
Heaven  only  knows;  where  can  they  go?  I  am 
distressed  for  them  ;  altogether  empty-handed,  and 
in  a  country  where  they  know  no  one." 

"Has  the  mother  no  relatives  —  no  son  or 
brother?"  was  the  question  of  the  stranger. 

"  0,  yes  indeed,"  said  Marie  ;  "  she  had  a  son. 
She  has  many  a  time  told  me  the  sad  tale  of  his 
having  been  drowned.  Yes,  and  in  her  sleep  she 
will  so  often  call  out  'Eugene — Eugene!'  and  then 
*he  will  \v;tke  up  and  cry  so  bitterly  —  it  breaks 
my  hfnrt  to  he;ir  her." 

"  Eugene  !  "  repeated  the  stranger,  musingly  ; 
"and  what  is  the  name  of  the  sick  lady?" 

"I  believe  it  is  Grot/,  or  Grice,  or  Grosse,  some 
such  name,"  replied  Marie;  "we  never  call  her 
anything  but  Madame.  They  came  here  from 
Silesia ;  and  Melanie  has  often  told  me  of  a  beauti- 
ful castle  where  they  lived,  which  was  burnt  down. 
They  belong  to  the  nobility,  I  am  sure;  and  I  am 
sure  Madame  may  well  grieve  over  the  loss  of 
her  riches,  for  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  rich  ;  but  it 
is  not  for  that  so  much  as  for  her  son  she  frets  so 
constantly.  Her  grief  is  killing  her,  and  she  is 
wrong  to  give  vray  to  it  so,  for  she  ought  to  think 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  279 

how  desolate  her  good  daughter  will  be  if  she 
dies." 

"  Grosse — Von  Grosse!"  almost  shrieked  the 
stranger ;  "  0  what  mysterious  Providence  has  led 
me  to  this  spot,  only  to  have  my  conscience  pierced 
with  new  and  sharper  stings  !" 

He  clasped  his  emaciated  hands  over  his  agitated 
face,  and  was  silent ;  but  large  tears  trickled  from 
between  his  fingers,  and  fell  on  his  bushy  beard. 
Marie  was  too  much  frightened  to  ask  the  cause 
of  this  new  emotion ;  and  turning  hastily  from 
him,  she  fled  down  the  narrow  stairs,  flinging  the 
door  after  her  with  a  force  that  shook  the  whole 
house. 

The  stranger  seated  himself  on  the  lowly  couch 
that  had  been  prepared  for  him ;  and  leaning  his 
head  on  his  hand,  remained  buried  in  painful 
reverie.  He  felt  not  the  cold  wind  that  swept 
through  the  open  walls,  and  shook  the  rattling 
windows  —  he  heard  not  the  rain  that  pelted  with- 
out, and  heeded  not  the  solemn  crash  which  some- 
times boomed  through  the  forest,  telling  that  some 
giant  oak,  some  moss-covered  chronicler  of  ancient 
days  and  Druid  rites,  had  fallen.  The  intensity 
of  the  emotion  which  swayed  his  heart  was  plainly 
visible  in  the  perturbed  features  and  agitated  frame ; 
but  after  a  time  the  painful  expression  subsided  — 
some  ray  of  comfort  seemed  to  have  streamed  ia 
upon  his  troubled  soul ;  for  rising  from  his  couch- 
45* 


280  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

ing  posture,  he  had  so  long  maintained,  he  folded 
his  hands  together,  and  prayed  aloud : 

"  I  understand  what  thou  wouldst  have  me  do, 
0  righteous,  sin-forgiving  God  !  who,  in  thy  mys- 
terious Providence,  has  led  me  through  my  wander- 
ing to  this  spot,  to  give  me  an  opportunity  to  undo 
the  wrong,  the  remembrance  of  which  has  caused 
me  such  bitter  repentance,  poisoning  every  moment 
of  life's  enjoyment  with  its  sting.  Have  rtiercy 
yet  further  upon  me,  Heavenly  Father;  help  me 
to  find  the  son  of  whom  I  robbed  this  family* 
whilst  the  poor  mother  is  still  in  life;  and  then, 
if  I  can  again  fall  on  the  place  where  I  concealed 
the  treasure  which  is  justly  theirs,  their  deep  pov- 
erty will  be  at  an  end." 

He  remained  in  a  musing  attitude  for  some  time 
longer,  as  if  resolving  some  plan  ;  at  length  he 
rose,  and  tearing  a  leaf  from  his  pocket-book,  wrote 
a  few  lines  upon  it  with  a  pencil,  the  dim  light  of 
the  lamp  which  Marie,  in  her  fright,  had  left 
behind,  placed  upon  the  floor  of  that  rude  chamber, 
scarcely  serving  to  make  objects  discernible. 

Having  finished  a  task  which  seemed  to  bestow 
comfort  in  its  prosecution,  he  laid  down  on  his 
hard  pallet  and  slept  soundly  until  the  day  began 
to  break.  He  rose  with  the  first  my  :  and  going 
down  into  the  kitchen,  he  found  the  peasant  girl 
had  already  kindled  a  fire,  and  was  preparing  a 
breakfast  of  warm  milk  and  bread  for  him.  In 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  281 

answer  to  bis  question^  she  told  him  Melanie  was 
still  sleeping,  and  her  mother  had  seemed  to 
grow  better  towards  morning.  With  many  thanks 
he  ate  heartily  of  the  simple  fare  Marie  had  pro- 
vided ;  but  to  her  invitation  to  remain  until  Me- 
lanie should  have  arisen,  he  at  once  answered  that 
he  could  not. 

"  I  have  a  long  journey  before  me,  and  must  go 
farther;  for  I  have  important  business  to  attend 
to.  business  which  must  on  no  account  be  delayed. 
But  thank  the  kind  young  lady  for  me,  and  give 
her  this  note  ;  tell  her  good  days  are  yet  in  store 
for  her — and  now  farewell !" 

Even  as  he  spoke  these  words  he  left  the  house  ; 
and  with  the  hasty  pace  of  one  bound  on  an  errand 
of  life  or  death,  set  off  through  the  forest.  The 
surprised  maiden  looked  after  him ;  but  although 
she  had  followed  to  the  door,  she  saw  but  his  re- 
treating form  as  it  vanished  between  the  tall  trees 
of  the  wood,  on  which  the  gray  light  and  sacred 
stillness  of  morning  still  was  reposing. 

She  did  not,  however,  disturb  Melanie  to  give 
her  the  stranger's  note,  of  which  she  could  not 
read  one  word  herself;  and  busying  herself  in 
household  and  dairy  cares,  and  deeming  it  of  little 
importance,  she  laid  it  on  the  kitchen  table,  where 
Melanie,  on  rising,  found  it. 

No  note  or  written  document  ever  found  its  way 
to  that  lonely  house,  for  the  inhabitants  seemed 


282  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

shut  out  from  human  sympathy  and  human  inter- 
course; and  wondering  what  it  could  mean,  she 
took  it  up  and  ran  hastily  over  the  illegible  writing. 
A  bright  glow  overspread  her  pallid  face,  and  her 
features  beamed  with  rays  of  sudden  and  pleasant 
emotion. 

"  Mother,  mother  !  "  she  exclaimed,  forgetting 
all  her  prudence  and  acquired  self-command  in  the 
excess  of  her  joy,  in  the  news  she  had  to  tell ; 
"  Eugene  is  living,  and  we  shall  see  him  again  !" 

"What  is  it  you  tell  me?"  cried  the  mother, 
starting  up  from  her  sick  bed  as  lightly  as  if  youth 
and  health  had  returned  in  a  moment ;  "  did  you 
say,  Melanie,  that  my  son  was  living  ?  0,  merciful 
Father  !  how  can  I  thank  Thee  !" 

With  these  words  she  fell  back  fainting  on  her 
pillow,  while  Melanie,  alarmed  at  the  effect  of  her 
own  precipitancy,  hung  over  her  in  agony,  believ- 
ing her  sudden  announcement  of  the  unexpected 
tidings  to  have  killed  her. 

She  wept  while  she  administered  such  simple 
remedies  as  were  within  her  reach  ;  but  Lady  Von 
Grosse  remained  in  a  most  critical  state  until  the 
evening,  when  Melanie  was  comforted  by  the  arri- 
val of  the  physician,  who  declared  her  mother's 
disorder  had  now  reached  the  crisis ;  and  he 
thought  that  on  awakening  from  the  quiet  sleep 
into  which  she  was  fallen,  she  would  find  herself 
greatly  better. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  283 

Three  whole  days  elapsed  before  Melanie  had 
much  to  encourage  her ;  but  at  length  the  wished- 
for  change  became  visible;  yet  there  was  still 
a  long  time  between  this  and  recovery,  during 
•which  period  she  sacrificed  every  feeling  of  self, 
and  attended  the  beloved  sufferer  with  the  most 
anxious  solicitude.  From  the  suddenness  with  which 
the  news  was  told,  the  shock  had  been  very  great. 
But  still  it  proved  the  best  medicine  for  Lady 
Von  Grosse.  Once  on  the  way  of  recovery,  her 
convalescence  was  rapid ;  she  forgot  her  grief  for 
the  loss  of  her  husband,  in  joy  for  the  hoped-for 
restoration  of  her  son.  Weakness,  poverty,  the 
knowledge  that  they  must  soon  leave  their  quiet 
forest  home,  without  knowing  where  they  were  to 
go,  gave  her  no  uneasiness,  no  care ;  she  read 
again  and  again  the  half-effaced  lines  left  by  the 
unknown  lodger  for  Melanie;  and  there  was  com- 
fort for  her  in  every  letter.  It  ran  as  follows :  — 

"  To  Mademoiselle  Melanie: — Your  kindness  has 
been  shown  to  one  altogether  unworthy — one  who 
has  injured  you  almost  past  the  power  of  restitu- 
tion. But  I  hope  it  is  not  yet  too  late ;  perhaps  I 
may  be  able  to  restore  in  part  that  of  which  I 
robbed  you.  I  will  try  to  do  so.  Know  then  that 
Eugene  yet  lives.  I  know  his  place  of  abode,  and 
I  will  hasten  to  it,  and  bring  him  back  to  the  arms 
from  whence  I  tore  him.  Your  servant  has  told 
me  you  would  soon  be  obliged  to  leave  the  forest 


284  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

lodge.  If  you  do  so,  go  no  further  than  the  town 

of  W ;  leave  your  address  at  the  council-house, 

and  unless  life  should  fail  me,  I  will  be  the  bearer 
of  good  tidings  to  you  !" 

Many  were  the  cogitations  of  both  mother  and 
daughter  as  to  who  the  enigmatical  stranger  might 
be ;  they  could  not  read  the  riddle,  and  so  gave  it 
up — it  was  of  little  importance  in  comparison  with 
the  knowledge  that  Eugene  was  alive. 

The  period  which  they  so  greatly  dreaded  now 
arrived,  namely,  that  of  vacating  the  forest  lodge 
for  the  reception  of  the  new  warden  and  his  family. 
He  wrote  to  let  them  know  he  would  arrive  in  the 
course  of  few  days ;  and  they  made  their  arrange- 
ments for  leaving  with  less  than  half  the  pain  they 
had  anticipated.  A  new  source  of  comfort  had 
arisen ;  and  although  the  hope  of  fruition  was 
still  at  a  distance,  like  the  stars  that  cheer  in  a 
cloudy  night,  there  was  sufficient  radiance  stream- 
ing from  it  to  dispel  the  gloom  that  would  have 
otherwise  enveloped  them. 

Their  preparations  were  soon  made,  for  they  had 
little  they  could  call  their  own.  All  their  once 
numerous  articles  of  luxury  were  diminished  to  a 
few  pieces  of  such  furniture  as  were  indispensable 
for  the  commonest  wants  —  some  cooking  utensils, 
and  a  scanty  wardrobe — and  with  these,  comprising 
all  their  earthly  goods,  Madame  Von  Grosse 
betook  herself  to  W ,  as  had  been  enjoined  on 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  285 

her  by  the  stranger.  Here  she  hired  a  small  garret 
room ;  and  together  with  Melanie,  resolved  to  earn 
a  support  by  taking  in  work. 

With  many  tears  the  latter  had  bade  adieu  to 
the  collier's  family,  who  had  been  her  only  friends 
in  those  days  of  discontent  and  loneliness  that 
marked  the  first  year  of  her  residence  in  the  Hartz 
forest.  But  sad  as  they  were  in  the  retrospect, 
they  were  yet  greatly  brighter  than  the  prospect 
promised  by  the  future,  should  Eugene  fail  to  re- 
turn. She  dared  not  think  of  such  an  alternative, 
for  hope  then  would  die  out  completely. 

The  forest  children,  kind  and  attached  as  ever, 
had  all  prepared  some  farewell  gift ;  each  one  had 
something  of  which  the  sight  must  bring  back  re- 
membrance of  the  little  foresters ;  and  Fritz,  who 
was  now  a  large  boy,  and  still  remained  Melanie's 
favorite,  had  put  forth  his  best  efforts,  and  made  a 
very  neat  bird-cage,  in  which  he  placed  a  tame 
bullfinch,  whose  merry  notes,  he  said,,  would  each 
day  serve  to  cheat  her  into  the  belief  that  she  was 
still  in  the  Hartz  forest.  The  collier's  wife,  how- 
ever, gave  her  the  best  gift  of  all — the  Bible  Avhich 
she  had  formerly  lent  her  —  the  book  whose  light 
had  served  as  a  lamp  to  her  own  path,  and  from 
whose  fount  of  healing  Melanie  had  received  her 
first  drops  of  consolation,  and  from  whence  glad- 
ness had  flowed  in  upon  her  mother's  darkened 
soul.  Her  heart  swelled  as  she  received  the  touch- 


286  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

ing  gift,  and  most  gratefully  she  accepted  it,  espe- 
cially as  she  knew  her  humble  friend  to  possess 
another. 

The  parting  between  them  was  sad,  but  not 
hopeless.  Many  were  the  days  they  had  enjoyed 
with  each  other,  those  dwellers  in  that  wild  forest. 
Widely  as  the  conventional  forms  of  rank  and  edu- 
cation had  separated  them,  here  the  claims  of 
human  sympathy  demanded  and  prevailed,  break- 
ing down  all  the  strong  barriers  which  pride  and 
fancied  superiority  once  had  raised.  They  here 
learned  that  there  is  but  one  great  human  family, 
that  all  are  more  or  less  dependent  on  each  other 
for  mutual  happiness ;  and  in  recognizing  the 
superior  advancement  of  the  collier  and  his  wife 
in  all  things  pertaining  unto  holiness,  they  were 
able  to  realize  that  "  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons, 
but  chooses  the  humble  to  confound  the  wise." 

Grieving  yet  hoping  from  each  other,  they 
parted,  believing  that  although  they  might  never 
gaze  on  each  other's  faces  on  earth,  yet,  as 
numbered  among  Christ's  ransomed,  their  inter- 
course should  be  renewed  in  heaven.  And  thoughts 
like  these  we  well  know  soften  the  pang  of  separa- 
tion, although  the  grave  utters  no  response  to  our 
"farewell." 

In  more  narrowed  circumstances  than  ever,  Me- 
]anie  and  her  mother  took  possession  of  their  garret 
chamber  in  W ,  plying  their  needles  busily 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN-.  287 

throughout  the  day,  but  always  appropriating  a 
portion  of  the  evening  to  the  perusal  of  God's  holy 
word.  Gay  and  glancing  equipages  rolled  along 
in  the  street  below,  hearing  their  thoughtless  occu- 
pants to  ball  or  theatre ;  but  our  two  friends, 
having  experienced  the  change  effected  by  renew- 
ing grace,  saw  them  without  envy,  for  they  read 
"those  who  truly  seek  the  Lord,  shall  not  want 
any  good  thing." 

They  wondered  now  that  they  had  ever  prized 
such  fleeting  vanities,  so  as  to  make  their  pursuit 
the  whole  end  of  a  life  bestowed  for  better  pur- 
poses;  and  were  thankful  that  their  eyes  were 
opened  to  behold  the  right  way — they  experienced 
how  hard  it  was  to  find  the  way  to  heaven  through 
the  intoxicating  pleasures  and  excitements  of  the 
gay  world  —  how  greatly  the  stings  of  repentance 
exceeded  the  charms  of  folly  or  allurements  of  sin  ; 
and  now  they  blessed  the  hand  of  the  Eternal 
Father,  that  had  so  sorely  smitten  only  that  it 
might  save  from  death. 

A  whole  month  passed  away  since  the  exciting 
evening  of  the  stranger's  arrival  at  the  forest 
lodge  ;  but  we  may  say  the  impression  of  his  visit 
faded  not  for  a  moment  from  the  minds  of  either 
mother  or  daughter.  Every  knock  at  the  street 
door,  every  quick  step  in  the  passage  or  on  the 
stairs,  caused  the  glow  of  expectation  to  color  the 
wasted  cheeks  of  the  anxious  mother,  and  made 
46 


288  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

the  sister  start ;  but  the  one  as  often  faded  back 
into  the  pallor  of  disappointment,  and  the  other 
experienced  the  sickening  pang  of  hope  deferred, 
for  neither  Eugene  nor  the  stranger  came. 

To  add  to  their  disappointment,  they  found 
that,  with  the  closest  application  to  their  sewing, 
they  were  only  able  to  earn  what  was  sufficient  to 
procure  them  food.  Unaccustomed  to  such  work, 
they  could  not  pursue  it  as  rapidly  as  could  those 
who  had  known  nothing  else  ;  and  Melanie  trembled 
with  apprehension  at  the  thought  that  when  the 
day  for  payment  of  the  rent  came  round,  she  had 
not  one  single  penny  laid  away  to  meet  it.  This, 
however,  she  carefully  concealed  from  her  mother ; 
and  when  the  Enemy  assailed  her  with  doubts  of 
God's  goodness,  and  distrust  of  his  promises,  she 
resolutely  applied  to  her  book — the  comforting  gift 
of  her  humble  friend  in  the  Hartz  forest ;  and, 
like  that  poor  but  confiding  Christian,  she  ever 
found  comfort.  The  tide  of  unbelief  was  turned 
away,  the  light  of  hope  illumined  the  pages  as  she 
read,  "  Fear  thou  not,  0  Jacob,  my  servant,  saith 
the  Lord ;  be  not  dismayed,  for  I  am  with  thee. 
I  will  make  an  end  of  all  wickedness,  but  I  will 
not  make  a  full  end  of  thee,  but  correct  thee  in  a 
measure ;  yet  will  I  not  leave  thee  wholly  un- 
punished." 

Her  tears  would  flow  more  calmly  when  she 
dwelt  on  passages  fraught  with  consolation  to  the 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  289 

sorrowing :  "  Wait  on  the  Lord,  and  do  good  ; 
verily  thou  shalt  be  fed ;  for  he  will  not  chide  con- 
tinually, nor  keep  his  anger  forever ;  but  he  is  full 
of  compassion,  and  delighteth  in  mercy ;  therefore 
commit  thy  way  to  God ;  trust  in  him,  and  he  shall 
give  thee  the  desires  of  thine  heart."  And  though 
there  seemed  no  earthly  help  on  which  she  could 
lean  in  the  trial  that  her  heart  so  painfully  fore- 
boded, she  was  able  to  contemplate  the  dark  pros- 
pect without  despair. 

But  a  few  days  more  were  wanting  until  the 
dreaded  rent-day  would  arrive.  Melanie  had 
denied  herself  everything  but  that  which  was  barely 
necessary ;  but  her  mother,  who  was  still  delicate, 
knew  no  want,  so  careful  had  been  this  good 
daughter  to  provide  her  with  comforts  which  she 
had  resolution  enough  to  do  without. 

Which  of  our  readers  could  now  recognize  the 
selfish,  affected,  pleasure-loving  Melanie,  in  this 
dutiful,  self-denying  daughter,  whose  Christian 
character  was  now  fashioned  from  the  example  of 
one  who  "came  to  save  the  world  that  hated  him," 
and  scoffed  at  goodness  it  could  not  comprehend. 
It  is  no  overdrawn  picture  —  the  prayerful  reading 
of  the  Scriptures,  attended  by  the  Spirit's  blessing, 
effects  such  changes  every  day;  for  not  more 
wonderful  than  a  second  birth,  to  which  our 
Saviour  compared  it,  is  the  transforming  influence 
of  that  Spirit's  operation  on  the  heart. 


290  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

As  we  have  before  stated,  but  a  few  days  wen; 
now  to  intervene  between  the  present  time  and 
that  on  which  the  landlord  would  expect  to  receive 
the  rent  for  their  garret.  In  spite  of  her  faith^ 
Melanie  had  felt  sad  all  day,  for  at  times  human 
nature  will  prevail  over  grace ;  yet  she  had  worked 
very  busily  until  the  deepening  twilight  forced  both 
herself  and  mother  to  lay  aside  the  sewing  on 
which  they  had  been  employed. 

Madame  Von  Grosse  sat  by  the  window  looking 
out  at  the  stars,  as  one  by  one  they  began  to 
"light  up  their  watch-towers"  in  the  sky,  cheering 
the  darkening  heavens  by  their  rays,  even  as  the 
promises  of  God  do  the  heart  obscured  by  grief. 
Melanie  was  busy  preparing  their  supper  of  meal 
porridge,  and  was  stirring  it  so  lustily  that  she 
scarcely  heard  a  gentle  knock  at  their  room  door. 
But  she  did  hear  it,  and  her  heart  beat  nervously 
—  was  it  the  landlord?  No  light  burned  in  the 
little  chamber;  but  the  moon,  shining  in  with 
friendly  look,  made  objects  distinct  enough  for  her 
to  pursue  her  avocation.  She  advanced  to  open 
the  door  at  whosoever  bidding  it  might  be,  and  a 
man,  whose  features  she  could  not  distinguish  in 
the  uncertain  light,  entered,  and  walked  without  a 
word  into  the  middle  of  the  room.  Both  females 
were  silent,  for  they  could  not  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  this  intrusion.  But  at  length  the 
stranger  spoke. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  291 

"Mother  —  sister!"  he  exclaimed,  "have  you 
forgotten  me  ?  Have  you  no  welcome  for  the 
wanderer,  or  do  you  not  care  to  have  your  Eugene 
back  again  ?" 

Such  a  meeting  as  this  cannot  be  described  — 
hearts  keep  their  own  record  of  such  scenes,  suffer- 
ing no  stranger  to  intermeddle  or  to  scan ;  s^p  we 
will  pass  over  that  sacred  hour  in  silence,  only  say- 
ing that  three  happy  hearts  beat  in  perfect  unison, 
as  they  made  that  hour  of  meeting  a  sacred  one, 
for  they  knelt  down  before  the  God  whom  they 
now  all  served,  to  thank  him  that  the  lost,  the 
long-believed  dead  son,  was  restored.  It  was  like 
a  resurrection  from  the  grave ;  and  with  the  deep- 
est humility  they  bowed  to  the  greatness  of  Him 
whose  goodness  and  mercy  had  so  exceeded  their 
deserts,  their  fears,  and  even  their  hopes. 

At  length  they  found  time  for  question  and 
answer  —  to  tell  to  each  other  what  had  severally 
befallen.  But  Eugene  could  not  help  acknowledg- 
ing to  himself,  and  with  shame  too,  how  much  less 
of  salutary  fruit  his  trials  had  brought  forth  to 
him  than  his  sister.  He  felt  how  greatly  she  ex- 
ceeded him  in  all  that  was  noble  and  good.  Know- 
ing what  she  had  been,  and  contrasting  it  with 
what  she  now  was,  and  remembering,  too,  all  that 
Felix  had  tried  to  teach  him,  and  how  greatly 
severe  discipline  had  improved  the  character  of  his 
friend,  he  was  convinced  there  was  something  more 
46* 


292  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

tluin  words  at  the  bottom  of  the  change  he  had 
witnessed  in  them  all ;  and  felt  that  much  was 
wanting  in  himself. 

Love  now  effected  what  hardship  had  failed  to 
do.  As  he  looked  at  his  mother's  bowed  form  and 
wasted  features,  at  Melanie's  rough  swelled  hands 
and  imxidus  eyes,  he  formed  a  strong  resolution 
— he  would  be  patient,  he  would  seek  steady  em- 
ployment, and  he  would  work  and  lighten,  if  ho 
could  not  remove,  the  burden  which  pressed  so 
heavily  on  those  dear  ones ;  and  this  resolution, 
as  he  made  it  in  a  proper  spirit,  he  kept  through 
life. 

"  But  tell  us,  dear  brother,"  said  Melanie,  as 
they  were  talking  over  matters  one  evening,  "tell 
us,  if  you  can,  who  was  that  stranger  that  begged 
a  night's  lodging  of  us,  while  we  lived  at  the  forest 
lodge  ?  it  was  he  who  first  gave  us  to  hope  that 
you  were  living." 

"  Could  you  not  recognize  our  old  servant 
Arcade  ?"  answered  Eugene. 

"Not  possible  it  was  he !"  replied  the  sister; 
"  why  did  he  fear  to  tell  us  his  name,  or  make  him- 
self known  ?" 

"A  guilty  conscience  makes  men  cowards.  He 
had  wronged  us  all  too  much  to  be  happy  in  find- 
ing himself  so  unexpectedly  in  your  presence,  and 
obliged  to  ask  a  favor  of  you ;  for  he  it  was  who 
decoyed  me  away.  But  I  will  tell  you  his  story  as 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  293 

he  told  it  to  me.  About  the  time  he  entered  into 
mother's  service,  he  fell  into  bad  company,  and 
turned  gambler,  loving  play  so  much  that  he  often 
lost  in  one  hour  all  that  he  could  earn  in  a  month. 
At  length  he  got  into  debt;  his  companions  pressed 
him  for  payment ;  and  his  mother,  who  was  a 
widow  and  owned  a  small  property,  in  her  blind 
indulgence  gave  him  her  last  penny.  But  even  this 
was  not  enough  ;  he  staked  the  little  homestead, 
all  she  had  to  support  her  in  her  old  age,  and  lost 
it.  He  was  in  despair ;  he  loved  his  mother,  and 
could  not  bear  the  thought  that  she  should  be  re- 
duced to  beggary  in  her  old  age.  But  his  love  of 
gambling  was  not  diminished.  He  left  his  home 
and  country,  and  came  to  Germany,  less  with  the 
hope  of  entering  into  service,  than  that  of  finding 
less  skilful  players  than  in  France,  from  whom  he 
might  expect  to  win  that  which  would  make  up,  if 
not  exceed,  his  losses. 

"  This  plan  did  not  succeed  as  he  wished.  He 
found  the  laws  of  chance,  and  the  lovers  of  gamb- 
ling the  same  here  as  in  the  country  he  had  left; 
and  having  entered  your  service,  dear  mother,  he 
bethought  himself  of  another  medium  by  which 
he  might  as  suddenly  become  rich  as  that  promised 
by  a  lucky  throw  of  the  dice.  He  staked  all  the 
money  he  earned  ;  he  lost  continually  ;  and  in  his 
despair,  as  he  told  me,  there  was  no  crime  he 


294     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

would  have  hesitated  to  commit,  for  his  whole  soul 
was  given  up  to  the  desire  of  gain. 

'*  The  birth-day  festival  opened  a  glorious  pros- 
pect to  his  avarice.  He  saw  the  valuable  casket 
with  its  sparkling  gems  standing  upon  your  dress- 
ing table;  and  determined,  when  opportunity 
offered,  to  appropriate  some  few  of  them  to  his 
own  use. 

"  'It  can  be  no  sin,'  thought  he  ;  '  the  Countess 
has  so  many  she  can  never  miss  them  ;  and  my 
old  mother  is  suffering.  No ;  I  will  do  this  for 
her  sake,  for  she  ruined  herself  to  pay  gambling 
debts  for  me !' 

"He  waited  on  the  company  throughout  the 
day ;  but  it  was  not  until  the  evening,  when 
the  guests,  .servants  and  all,  left  the  castle  to  see 
the  fireworks  exhibited  in  the  garden,  that  he 
could  find  a  fitting  time  to  carry  out  his  plan.  To 
the  invitation  of  some  one  of  his  fellows  to  witness 
the  spectacle,  he  replied  that  '  fireworks  were  so 
common  in  his  country,  that  the  sight  would  be 
aothing  new  to  him  ;  they  might,  therefore,  all 
50,  and  he  would  stay  behind  and  watch  the  castle.' 
So  far  all  succeeded.  They  went,  and  he  was  left; 
be  knew  where  the  key  of  the  casket  was  kept; 
and  putting  it  in  the  lock,  he  turned  it,  and  the 
costly  treasure  lay  before  his  gloating  eyes. 

" '  Only  one  chain,  or  a  few  rings,'  he  said  to 
himself,  and  he  buried  his  hand  among  the  gems ; 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  295 

hut  at  that  moment  something  fluttered  behind 
him.  The  large  chamber  was  but  dimly  lighted  ; 
and  he  could  not  discern  objects  at  the  further  end. 
But  his  hair  rose  upon  end  as  he  believed  himself 
detected,  for  a  hoarse  voice,  proceeding  from  one 
corner,  cried  out,  '  Villain  !  Knave  !' 

u  He  waited  not  to  discover  who  was  the  accuser, 
but,  catching  up  the  open  casket  in  his  arms,  he 
fled  like  one  bereft  of  reason  ;  and  he  felt  that  he 
wns  pursued,  for  he  heard  the  rushing  of  wings 
behind  him  as  he  ran.  He  reached  the  long  corri- 
dor, and  was  proceeding  to  grope  his  way  in  dark- 
ness to  the  back  stair;  but  all  at  once  a  bright 
light  sprung  up  around  him,  making  every  object 
visible  in  its  fearful  glow.  Horror-stricken,  he 
turned  to  seek  another  outlet,  still  clasping  the 
open  casket  in  his  arms,  although  he  yet  believed 
himself  pursued  by  demons.  It  must  have  been 
our  parrot,  Melanie,  that  frightened  him  by  its 
voice ;  you  remember  we  used  to  take  great 
pleasure  in  hearing  him  repeat  those  words. 

"  He  sought  the  stairs  which  led  to  the  front 
entrance,  for  the  flames  were  now  bursting  forth 
from  the  chambers  and  galleries,  where  they  had 
been  so  successfully  kindled.  On  the  first  landing 
place  he  met  a  ferocious-looking  man  with  matted 
hair,  and  whose  expression  of  wild  despair,  as  he 
brandished  a  flaming  torch  in  his  hand,  applying 
it  to  everything  combustible  within  his  reach, 


296  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

served  to  picture  to  his  now  heated  fancy  one  of 
the  lost  spirits  escaped  for  a  season  from  the  pit, 
and  come  to  spread  destruction  and  ruin  over  the 
scene  that,  a  few  hours  before,  was  so  fair. 

"'Come  along!  come  along!'  he  cried  in  the 
tone  of  a  mocking  fiend  ;  '  help  me  to  kindle  up 
the  fires,  that  they  may  all  warm  themselves, 
you  and  me  too  !  it  is  nice  to  be  warm  !'  and  the 
maniac  laugh  with  which  he  concluded  his  speech 
rang  out  above  the  no\v  crackling  flames ;  and  in 
it  Amade'  recognized  the  insane  prisoner  Dietrich. 
Scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  and  dreading  that 
the  peasant  would  destroy  him,  groping  in  the 
casket,  he  grasped  a  handful  of  jewels  from  the 
store,  and  handing  them  to  him,  bade  him  take 
them  as  some  requital  for  his  wrongs.  Dietrich 
received  them  with  great  indifference,  thrusting 
them  into  his  vest  pocket.  Amade  was  only  too 
much  rejoiced  when  the  former  told  him  that  all 
he  desired  in  return  for  his  keeping  silence  in 
reference  to  the  loss  of  the  casket,  would  be  to  give 
him  a  hiding-place  for  a  few  days,  as  he  was  certain 
he  would  be  pursued.  He  directed  him,  therefore, 
•without  hesitation,  to  the  cottage  where  his  mother 
now  lived ;  and  knowing  Dietrich's  proverbial 
honesty,  he  committed  the  casket  to  his  charge, 
and  sent  him  at  once  on  his  way. 

"No  suspicion  was  attached  to  Amade,  for  he 
was  among  the  most  busy  in  extinguishing  the 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.       297 

flames,  and  seeking  for  the  lost  treasure.  In  the 
meantime,  whilst  the  consequent  bustle  was  going 
forward,  the  prisoner,  with  his  costly  charge, 
reached  the  desired  asylum,  where  both  himself 
and  it  were  successfully  hidden,  although  justice 
left  no  means  untried  to  find  out  whither  he  had 
fled. 

"  His  revenge,  however,  was  but  half  satisfied ; 
and  having  Amade  now  completely  in  his  power, 
he  next  demanded  of  him  the  betrayal  of  myself 
into  his  hands.  I  have  already  told  you  how  this 
was  done.  You  remember,  mother,  Amade's  term 
of  service  was  nearly  expired  at  that  time ;  he 
greatly  dreaded  that  Dietrich  would  return  ;  and 
anxious  to  secure  his  ill-gotten  gain  in  a  safer  place 
than  it  was  at  present,  he  left  you ;  and  telling 
every  one  he  was  going  back  to  France,  he  thus 
put  them  completely  off  the  track  of  his  where- 
abouts, if  any  suspicion  should  ever  arise.  But 
instead  of  this,  he  withdrew  into  a  distant  duchy 
on  the  borders  of  Poland,  where  he  purchased  a 
small  inn,  together  with  a  spot  of  farming-land. 

At  first  all  went  well  —  his  customers  were 
pleased,  and  his  cattle  throve ;  his  means  were 
ncreased;  he  laid  by  a  smart  sum  of  money,  still 
lepositing  it  in  the  casket,  where  yet  many  of  the 
jewels  remained.  But  his  old  passion  for  play 
•evived ;  and  the  more  riches  he  acquired,  the  more 
.varicious  he  became.  And  not  contented  to  gain 


298  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

wealth  by  fair  play  or  honest  endeavors,  he  sought 
the  quicker  method  to  obtain,  which  he  so  greatly 
desired,  by  fraud.  He  procured  loaded  dice, 
played  falsely,  arid  was  detected ;  gens-d'armes, 
sent  by  the  provincial  authorities,  appeared  sud- 
denly, and  surrounded  his  house ;  but  Amade  suc- 
ceeded in  making  his  escape,  bearing  with  him  the 
treasured  casket  concealed  within  the  folds  of  his 
cloak. 

"Not  daring  to  seek  the  habitations  of  men,  he 
wandered  in  unfrequented  districts ;  and  it  was 
when  forced  by  hunger  he  entered  at  times  into 
some  obscure  village,  in  order  to  purchase  coarse 
food,  which  he  devoured  in  some  mountain  cavern, 
where  he  had  spread  the  couch  of  leaves  that 
served  him  for  a  bed.  It  was  on  returning  from 
such  an  errand  on  a  stormy  evening  that,  mistaking 
the  path  that  led  to  his  cavern  home,  he  strayed 
into  a  different  part  of  the  forest.  The  light  of 
torches  glimmered  from  among  the  trees ;  and  to 
the  voice  of  the  tempest  were  added  the  oaths  and 
imprecations  of  men.  His  pursuers  were  on  the 
track.  He  turned  to  flee  he  knew  not  whither  ; 
but  his  progress  was  considerably  hindered  by  the 
weight  of  the  casket,  from  which  he  never  parted 
by  night  or  day. 

"  But  what  was  gold  now,  when  his  life  was  at 
stake  —  valueless  as  the  earth  on  which  he  trod; 
and  throwing  it  among  a  heap  of  loose  stones  that 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  299 

lay  in  a  little  hollow,  where  the  ground  was  covered 
with  a  thick  undergrowth,  he  rolled  some  of  the 
largest  over  the  opening,  so  as  effectually  to  con- 
ceal it ;  and  creeping  on  his  hands  and  feet  for 
some  distance  through  the  spiky  shrubbery,  not 
heeding  the  wounds  made  on  his  hands  and  face, 
he  succeeded  in  escaping  the  observation  of  his 
pursuers.  At  length  the  lights  ceased  to  stream 
on  the  deep  darkness  of  the  wood,  and  the  voices 
died  away  in  the  distance ;  and  although  at  another 
time  the  surrounding  horrors  would  have  spoken 
only  of  death  and  danger  to  the  alarmed  culprit, 
how  cheering  now  was  the  sombre  shadow  —  what 
soothing  came  in  the  unaccompanied  voice  of  the 
still  raging  tempests  ! 

"  He  arose  to  his  feet  and  looked  round ;  the 
trees,  much  less  dense,  assured  him  to  be  near  the 
end  of  the  forest ;  and  when  the  morning  dawned, 
clear,  calm,  and  beautiful,  he  found  himself  at  its 
edge.  Smoke  issuing  from  the  distant  cottages 
told  of  man  and  domestic  comforts ;  but  the  out- 
cast dared  not  seek  sympathy  in  the  one,  or  parti- 
cipation in  the  other. 

"  Filled  with  sad  and  repentant  thoughts,  as  he 
stood  gazing  upon  the  scene  he  feared  to  approach, 
he  was  startled  by  a  loud  scream.  He  turned  in 
dismay ;  and  close  beside  him  was  a  little  girl,  who, 
with  a  basket  on  her  arm,  had  come  thus  early  to 
the  forest  to  pick*berries,  which  grew  in  abundance 
47 


300  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

there.  He  enquired  what  it  was  had  frightened 
her ;  but  without  making  any  answer,  she  screamed 
but  the  louder  as  he  tried  to  drive  away  her  fears ; 
and  when  he  attempted  to  lead  her  by  the  hand, 
fled  with  the  speed  of  the  lapwing,  occasionally 
looking  back  to  see  if  the  frightful-looking  man, 
covered  with  blood  and  dust,  was  following.  Her 
cries  awakened  the  attention  of  some  wood-cutters 
who  were  at  work  near  the  spot.  They  hastened 
to  see  what  was  the  matter ;  and  without  waiting 
to  question  the  stranger,  whose  appearance  was  so 
very  suspicious,  they  overpowered  him  at  once ; 
and  putting  him  in  a  cart,  carried  him  to  the  nearest 
market-town,  where  he  was  brought  before  a  magis- 
trate to  answer  for  himself. 

"  Among  the  crowd  collected  to  witness  his 
examination,  were  one  or  two  persons  who  had 
known  him  in  his  public  capacity.  They  gave  evi- 
dence of  his  being  not  only  a  notorious  gambler, 
but  one  who  played  falsely ;  the  trial  was  short, 
and  he  was  sent  to  the  house  of  correction.  At 
this  time  he  learned  from  an  old  neighbor,  who 
compassionately  visited  him  in  his  prison,  that  his 
house  and  all  the  goods  had  been  seized  upon  by 
his  creditors,  and  sold ;  his  mother  dead  —  died 
from  hardship,  poverty,  and  grief;  and  the  worm 
of  remorse,  preying  upon  the  heart  of  the  unhappy 
son,  ho  wished  for  the  death  which  he  yet  feared  to 
meet.  * 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  301 

"  It  was  now  that,  left  to  solitude  and  reflection, 
and  hating  the  life  which  he  feared  to  take,  for 
although  he  had  formerly  mocked  at  all  religion, 
and  said  within  his  heart  '  there  is  no  God,'  the 
conviction  of  an  all-prevailing  Power  so  forced 
itself  upon  his  tortured  mind,  that,  though  sorely 
tempted,  he  could  not  determine  to  rush  uncalled 
into  the  dread  presence  of  the  Mighty  Judge.  He 
had  read  the  words,  '  It  is  appointed  to  all  men 
once  to  die,  and  after  that  the  judgment;'  and  the 
sentence  echoed  fearfully  into  the  inmost  recess  of 
his  soul.  He  thought  over  every  wicked  act  of  his 
past  life  —  the  space  so  mercifully  given  to  man 
for  the  preparation  of  a  holier  and  more  blissful 
state — of  the  vile  ingratitude  he  had  shown  to  his 
mother,  who,  in  her  blind  affection,  had  sacrificed 
her  earthly  all  for  his  sake  —  of  the  sorrow  and 
wrong  he  had  wrought  on  the  Von  Grosse  family, 
who  had  received  and  trusted  him  when  he  was  a 
fugitive,  driven  from  his  early  home  and  from  the 
society  of  his  fellow  men.  Whilst  with  that  family 
he  was  received  into  the  friendly  castle  of  Stein- 
rode  ;  and  there,  where  Piety  sprinkled  the  sweet 
dews  daily  from  her  cup  of  consolation,  some  few 
drops  had  reached  him ;  and  though  at  the  time 
considered  of  no  account,  they  came  now  in  his 
hours  of  affliction  like  soothing  balm  to  the 
diseased.  *  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  are  weary 
and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest,'  were 


302  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

words  that  he  could  not  but  remember ;  and  thej 
now  gave  sweet  assurance  that  there  was  no  sin  of 
dye  so  deep  that  it  could  not  be  washed  away  in  the 
all-atoning  blood  of  Him,  the  pure  and  perfect,  who, 
having  suffered  and  died,  *  had  passed  into  the 
heavens,'  where,  as  man's  Advocate,  he  ever  lives 
to  make  intercession  for  all  who  come  to  God 
through  Him. 

"  Whilst  thoughts  of  this  kind,  mingled  with 
some  of  more  worldly  character,  were  revolving  in 

•  '  O 

his  mind,  a  felon  was  brought  in  to  share  the  cell 
he  had  heretofore  occupied  alone.  His  loose  dress, 
pointed  cap,  and  flowing  beard,  at  once  proclaimed 
him  a  Jew  ;  and  in  the  natural  course  of  communi- 
cation which  ensued  between  them,  they  soon 
became  quite  confidential  in  their  intercourse. 
A  mad*',  in  his  distress  of  mind,  made  a.  full  dis- 
closure of  all  his  guilt  t.o  Simon  (for  my  old  master 
had  got  to  the  right  place  at  last),  perhaps  in  hopes 
that  one  so  much  older  than  himself  could  help 
him  plan  some  way  of  escape,  or  maybe  that  the 
confession  served  to  lighten  his  own  mind. 

"The  Jew,  it  seemed,  had  made  no  effort  to 
find  out  where  the  parents  of  Felix  and  myself 
were  gone,  but  engaged  in  new  thefts,  which 
promised  to  be  more  speedily  profitable  than  such 
a  search,  and  the  police  had  at  last  been  able  to 
detect  and  secure  him. 

"  As  Arcade",  in  the  nights  when  he  could  not 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  303 

sleep,  related  his  story  concerning  the  robbery  of 
the  rich  casket,  and  abduction  of  myself  and 
Felix,  not  withholding  our  own  and  family  names, 
the  hardened  Simon  laughed  at  him,  calling  him 
'a  whining  fool ;'  and  then,  by  way  of  boasting  of 
superior  strength  of  mind,  vaunted  of  his  own 
deeds,  together  with  the  dexterity  by  which  he  had 
so  long  eluded  the  vigilance  of  the  police;  and 
concluded  by  declaring  that  he  could  tell  his 
'chicken  hearted  companion  all  about  me,  and 
where  I  was  at  that  time.'  He  also  recounted,  in 
a  triumphant  manner,  how  he  had  got  me  into  his 
power,  and  what  pains  he  had  taken  to  make  me 
as  accomplished  a  thief  as  himself.  '  I  wanted  a 
companion,'  said  he,  'for  I  am  getting  old  and 
stiff,  and  the  boy  was  tall  and  slender,  and  could 
accomplish  much  that  a  large  man  could  not.'  In 
short,  mother  —  you  must  spare  me  the  shameful 
remembrance.  Let  me  only  say  that  Felix  was 
the  good  angel  sent  from  heaven  to  save  me 
from  becoming  like  Simon  and  Amade,  who,  with 
many  others,  chose  to  gather  gain  in  forbidden 
paths,  rather  than  earn  their  bread  as  God  had 
commanded  man  to  do,  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow. 

"  At  last  Amade  was  released  from  prison  ;  and 
as  his  repentance  was  really  sincere,  he  resolved 
to  seek  an  humble  service,  whereby  he  might  gain 
an  honest  living.  But  he  soon  found  that  a 
tarnished  reputation  is  not  easily  retrieved.  No 
47* 


804     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

man  wished  to  employ  the  liberated  convict ;  no 
one  pitied  his  destitution  ;.  no  one  believed  in  hia 
intended  reformation. 

"  Hunger  and  want  at  this  time  almost  com 
pelled  him  to  pilfer,  in  order  to  supply  their  press- 
ing demands ;  but  true  to  the  resolution  he  had 
formed,  he  yielded  not ;  for  it  was  his  fixed  pur- 
pose to  be  honest.  Some  few  little  turns  he  found 
to  do,  and  for  which  bread,  barely  sufficient  to 
keep  him  from  starving,  was  given  ;  but  anything 
like  regular  employment,  for  which  he  might 
demand  regular  wages,  was  out  of  the  question. 
At  length  a  good-natured  farmer  took  him  into  hia 
barn  to  thresh.  This  was  hard  work  for  him,  who 
never  wielded  a.  flail  in  his  life;  and  now  for  little 
more  than  the  rough  food  he  ate,  he  labored  six- 
teen hours  out  of  the  twenty-four ;  but  so  great 
was  the  change  that  had  c<mie  over  him,  he  per- 
formed his  task  without  a  murmur.  He  thanked 
God  for  the  asylum  he  had  found;  but,  alas!  it 
was  not  long  until  he  had  to  seek  another. 

"  His  fellow-laborers  found  out  by  some  means 
that  he  had  served  his  time  in  the  house  of  correc- 
tion, and  utterly  refused  to  work  in  company  with 
one  who  had  been  so  publicly  disgraced.  The 
farmer  pitied  him,  and  remonstrated  with  his 
men  ;  but  it  was  of  no  avail.  They  insisted  that 
Amade'  or  themselves  must  be  parted  with.  The 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  305 

master  had  no  alternative,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
dismiss  him. 

"  Almost  despairing,  he  once  more  resumed  his 
wanderings  ;  and  as  he  strayed  from  place  to  place, 
his  heart  again  grew  harder  under  the  cruelty  and 
unfeeling  treatment  he  met  with  from  his  fellow 
men.  He  felt  himself  powerfully  tempted  to  go 
back  to  the  ways  of  wickedness,  palliating  the  sin 
by  saying  to  himself,  '  If  I  steal,  it  shall  only  be  a 
few  farthing?,  which  nobody  will  miss,  or  else  some 
food  to  keep  me  from  starving.' 

"  No  opportunity,  however,  occurred  to  put  his 
purpose  into  execution,  until  on  the  evening  when, 
wandering  through  the  region  of  the  Hartz  moun- 
tains, he  came  upon  the  lonely  forest  lodge,  which, 
lying  so  remote,  so  shut  out  from  all  other  habita- 
tions, seemed  almost  to  invite  to  depredation.  But 
heaven  spared  him  the  sin ;  here,  for  the  first  time, 
he  was  met  by  gentleness  and  compassion,  his  heart 
was  again  softened  ;  he  gave  up  the  unrighteous 
thoughts  that  were  revolving  in  his  soul,  and  he 
determined  to  beg  rather  than  steal. 

"  When  he  heard  from  the  servant  girl  the  name 
of  the  family  who  had  so  unhesitatingly  sheltered 
him  in  that  inclement  night  —  when  the  circum- 
stances she  recounted  assured  him  that  the  inmates 
of  the  cottage  were  those  he  had  so  deeply  wronged, 
repentance  once  more  became  busy  at  his  heart, 
and  he  resolved,  as  far  as  Inr  in  his  power,  to 


306  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

endeavor  to  redress  that  wrong/  He  sought  me 
out  almost  immediately ;  and  calling  my  master 
to  one  side,  had  a  long  and  private  conversation 
with  him;  when  it  was  ended  the  latter,  looking 
much  troubled,  bade  me  get  ready,  for  I  might  set 
out  at  once  for  home,  at  the  same  time  offering  to 
lend  me  money  for  the  journey. 

"  It  was  on  the  same  night  that  Amade,  whom  I 
could  scarcely  recognize  as  our  former  footman, 
so  changed  was  his  whole  appearance,  occupying 
the  same  chamber  with  myself,  told  me  the  tale  I 
have  related  to  you.  What  arguments  he  used 
to  pursuade  my  stern  master,  I  know  not ;  and  I 
could  not  ask  him,  for  when  I  awoke  in  the  morn- 
ing he  was  gone,  and  no  one  knew  at  what  hour 
he  had  departfid.  It  made  little  matter  to  one  so 
happy  as  I  now  was,  in  my  haste  to  leave  my 
Russian  home.  I  could  scarcely  wait  to  eat  some 
breakfast,  but  tied  up  my  few  articles  of  clothing 
in  a  bundle,  and  threw  myself  into  the  mail 
waggon,  which  brought  me  safe  to  this  place  and 
to  you,  from  whom  I  hope  never  again  to  be  sepa- 
rated. 

"  I  am  determined  to  do  my  best,  dear  mother, 
to  make  your  declining  years  pass  in  comfort,  and 
to  share  Melanie's  burden,  be  it  what  it  may.  In 
the  first  place,  I  will  seek  a  mechanic,  for  whom  I 
can  do  journey-work  by  day,  and  in  the  evenings 
I  will  copy  documents  for  a  lawyer,  with  whom  I 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  307 

made  acquaintance  as  I  travelled  hither.  I  have 
been  wicked,  thoughtless,  ah !  and  in  days  past, 
cruel  and  disobedient ;  but  Adversity  has  taught 
me  salutary  things ;  and  I  trust  God  will  give  me 
strength  to  maintain  my  good  resolutions." 

Eugene  had  finished  his  narrative,  and  for 
some  moments  the  little  party  remained  silent; 
but  at  length  Lady  Von  Grosse  rose  from  her 
chair,  and  folding  both  her  children  to  her  heart, 
blessed  God  for  the  wonderful  Providence  that  had 
so  worked  together  for  the  good  of  all ;  but  above 
all,  she  prayed  that  her  returned  son  might  be 
strengthened  in  the  pursuit  of  every  good  work, 
and  kept  secure  from  the  allurements  of  vice,  and 
above  the  temptations  of  the  world. 

Although  Eugene's  money,  by  the  expenses  of 
his  journey,  had  melted  away  to  his  last  penny, 
and  he  had  not  the  most  distant  idea  of  finding 
his  family  in  such  straitened  circumstances,  yet 
on  this  night  he  was  happier  than  ever  he  had  been 
in  all  his  life  before.  He  enjoyed,  in  anticipation, 
the  pleasure  he  should  have  in  being  the  support 
and  stay  of  his  mother  and  sister ;  and  slept 
soundly,  although  he  had  no  better  bed  than  the 
hard  floor,  on  which  Melanie  had  spread  a  few 
blankets,  to  which  she  added  her  own  pilow,  choos- 
ing to  do  without  it  herself,  for  the  pleasure  of 
giving  it  to  her  brother. 

Who  ought  ever  to  despond  while   he   knows 


308  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

that  "God  is  in  heaven,"  watching  over  all  for 
good?  In  the  evening,  when  Melanie  and  her 
mother  gazed  on  the  sunset  glow,  it  was  with 
hearts  sad  in  the  prospect  of  coming  difficulties ; 
but  a  happy  night  was  theirs ;  and  when  the  morn- 
ing shed  her  light  once  more  upon  the  earth,  the 
sun  poured  forth  his  early  beams  upon  bright 
countenances,  and  as  grateful  beings  as  any  that 
existed  in  the  whole  compass  of  the  great  city  of 
W . 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.     309 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  They  spoke  of  many  a  banished  scene, 
Of  what  they  once  had  thought  and  said, 
Of  what  had  been  and  might  have  been, 
And  who  was  changed,  and  who  was  dead." 

PLEASANT  indeed  were  the  days  passed  by  the 
guests  at  Steinrode ;  but  time  will  move  onward, 
and  duty  will  call  imperatively  ;  and  so  in  this 
case.  The  days  flew  like  hours,  for  they  were 
crowned  with  delight ;  but  sooner  than  was  wished 
by  any  of  the  party,  the  Baron  began  to  speak  of 
returning  to  the  capital,  where  the  affairs  of  his 
oflice  at  court  demanded  his  presence,  and  where 
Herman  had  been  left  behind  to  pursue  his  college 
studies. 

Mr.  Norman  had,  as  yet,  given  no  hint  of  his 
meditated  plan  of  the  disposal  of  Steinrode  to  its 
former  owner ;  but  when  Baron  Lindenburg  de- 
clared that  they  must  set  out  for  home  on  the 
morrow,  the  eccentric  old  man  took  him  by  the 
hand,  and  shaking  it  warmly,  said,  "  You  have  been 
disappointed  in  your  wish  to  purchase  a  suitable 
property  in  this  neighborhood,  and  I  doubt  whether 
you  can  anywhere  find  one  that  would  please  you 
so  well  as  this  old  castle.  Stay  where  you  are 


310  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

then,  my  good  friend  ;  I  see  it  is  hard  for  you  all 
to  think  of  leaving  Steinrode;  and  for  yourself, 
I  know  you  would  rather  again  be  the  possessor  of 
your  ancestral  domain,  than  to  fill  the  most  exalted 
post  your  king  can  offer  you.  Lady  Lindenburg 
will  get  well  here,  since  all  painful  remembrance  is 
removed,  and  Steinrode  be  to  you  all  the  pleasant 
home  of  other  days.  I  have  loved  it,  too;  but  I 
am  of  a  restless  nature  —  I  cannot  remain  long  in 
any  place.  Besides,  I  love  a  little  bustle,  and  I 
long  to  mingle  with  the  world  ag;iin  ;  and  I  have 
for  some  time  been  planning  a  voyage  to  America, 
where  I  propose  taking  my  good  Ehrenfried  with 
me,  as  he  seems  as  much  filled  with  the  love  of 
travel  as  myself.  Steinrode,  therefore,  if  you  wish 
it,  shall  be  given  back  into  your  hands  fettered 
with  this  condition  only,  that  when  weary  of 
wandering,  I  may  feel  the  need  of  rest,  you  will 
receive  me  for  a  short  space  as  your  guest,  and  my 
young  companion  —  will  you  not  find  a  place  for 
him  too?  My  trunks  are  already  packed,"  he 
continued,  laughing,  as  the  Baron  endeavored  to 
express  the  grateful  astonishment  he  felt  at  this 
unexpected  fulfilment  of  the  heart's  wish  he  had 
not  dared  to  utter.  "  Ehrenfried  and  myself  set 
out  in  the  morning,  and  you  must  all  stay  here,  if 
it  is  only  to  see  the  harvest  gathered,  and  the 
flowers  that,  hid  in  their  beds  by  thousands,  are 
yet  to  bloom  before  the  withering  winds  of  Autumn 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  311 

corae.  I  am  a  queer  old  man,  but  I  love,  in  pur- 
suing my  Dwn  notions,  to  make  others  happy." 

New  joy  was  diffused  among  the  Lindenburg 
family,  when  the  father  communicated  the  intelli- 
gence that  Steinrode  was  once  more  to  be  their 
home.  That  of  the  parents  was  calm  and  quiet ; 
but  the  children  —  they  were  almost  boisterous. 
Felix  would  have  felt  but  half  satisfied  at  leaving 
the  old  castle  ;  but  now  he  saw  himself  prospect- 
ively  the  farmer  he  had  ever  wished  to  be,  tilling 
the  old  acres  over  which  his  ancestors  had  trodden, 
and  filling,  as  his  father  had  done,  the  place  of 
landlord  and  benefactor  to  those  born  on  the  soil, 
after  he  had  passed  away  like  the  others,  whose 
faded  portraits  in  the  old  hall  alone  reminded  the 
gazer  that  they  had  been. 

The  maidens — did  they  not  long  for  the" scenes, 
the  bright  glittering  court  scenes,  left  behind  in 
the  capital  ?  0  no  ;  all  was  bright  and  pleasant 
there  ;  they  had  many  valued  friends,  many  sweet 
associations  springing  from  the  intercourse,  the 
employments  and  pleasures  of  a  city  life ;  but 
Steinrode  —  dear  Steinrode  —  it  was  the  sweetest 
place  in  the  world.  And  now  it  was  particularly 
so  —  the  glorious  summer  sunlight,  the  cool  gray 
shadows  of  the  forest,  the  thousands  of  bright 
colored  flowers  that  clothed  the  hillsides,  the  yel- 
low waving  grain,  the  songs  of  birds  in  the  grove, 
and  sweet  odours  from  the  garden  —  who  would  be 
48 


312     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

willing  to  exchange  these  for  the  dull,  hot  brick 
walls  of  a  city?  Ehrenfried  himself,  though  burn- 
ing with  desire  to  visit  those  wondrous  western 
realms  of  which  he  had  read  so  much,  could  not 
leave  it  without  bitter  regret. 

Felix  and  himself  were  to  exchange  letters 
regularly,  and  the  latter  was  to  make  large  collec- 
tions of  the  plants  and  insects  found  in  that  tropi- 
cal clime,  which  he  was  to  send  from  time  to  time 
to  his  friend,  whose  long  servitude  in  Poland  had 
not  in  the  least  abated  his  love  of  Natural  History. 

The  day  came  only  too  soon  when  Mr.  Norman 
and  the  peasant  boy  were  to  leave  Steinrode,  per- 
haps forever;  and  all  were  sad  and  melancholy  at 
the  parting.  With  heavy  hearts  they  listened  to 
the  clang  of  the  post-horn  that  called  the  travellers 
from  that  quiet  home ;  and  some  tears  fell  as  the 
rumbling  mail-coach  vanished  in  the  distance,  and 
bore  with  it  the  friends  they  had  learned  to  love. 

Silent  and  sad,  they  were  still  seated  at  the 
breakfast  table,  which  was  spread  in  the  old  parlor, 
whose  wide  open  windows  permitted  all  sounds 
from  without  to  enter,  when  the  rolling  of  a 
carriage  over  the  gravelled  road  in  the  front  avenue 
roused  them  from  their  musing,  arid  awakened  their 
attention.  They  rose  at  once  and  looked  out, 
wondering  who  those  early  visitors  could  be,  and 
their  eyes  were  greeted  and  their  hearts  gladdened 
by  seeing  the  placid  face  of  aunt  Angela,  and 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  313 

hearing  the  hearty  cheer  which  Herman  gave  as 
he  thrust  his  smiling  face  through  the  open  blinds 
of  the  carriage. 

Oh  !  the  meeting  between  the  two  brothers,  who 
could  describe  it  ?  No  one ;  for  no  one  can  enter 
into  the  hidden  depths  of  the  heart  —  they  could 
not  have  explained  their  emotions ;  and  we  will 
only  say  that  they  lay  in  each  other's  arms,  whilst 
heart  beat  to  heart ;  and  answered  each  other  in 
pulses  that  spoke  to  the  spirit,  but  found  no 
utterance  in  words.  There  was  joy  this  day 
at  Steinrode ;  such  joy  as  to  human  beings  is 
seldom  permitted,  whose  remembrance  no  after 
sorrow  can  ever  obliterate,  and  whose  impression 
never  altogether  fades,  even  in  the  turmoil  of 
busy  life ;  for  could  brothers,  like  these  thus  re- 
united, forget?  how  could  anything  separate  hearts 
thus  joined? 

Much  of  the  former  mode  of  life  was  resumed 
at  Steinrode ;  occupations  in  the  morning,  and  the 
family  meetings  round  the  fire  in  the  winter  even- 
ings. Lady  Lindenburg  daily  improved  in  health 
since  she  had  found  her  long-mourned  son  again ; 
and  with  great  gratitude  to  heaven,  she  saw  that 
Adversity  had  been  sanctified  to  him.  She  re- 
sumed her  house-keeping  duties  by  degrees ;  but 
they  were  not  hard,  for  old  mother  Spiller,  still  fresh 
and  hale,  remained  at  the  head  of  the  kitchen 


314  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

concerns,  and  kept  Dolly  and  the  fat  cook  in  due 
bounds. 

Greatly  were  they  all  delighted  to  have  Felix 
restored ;  and  although  Dolly  would  have  been 
better  pleased  had  he  recounted  adventures  in 
Fairyland  rather  than  his  hardships  in  Poland,  she 
bore  her  disappointment  quite  rationally,  notwith- 
standing the  cook  often  reminded  her  of  all  that  had 
been  said  at  the  kitchen  fire,  on  the  night  of  his 
mysterious  disappearance.  Mother  Spiller,  as  she 
laid  her  withered  hand  on  his  bright  clustering 
locks,  and  looked  into  the  laughing  blue  eyes  she 
had  so  loved  in  childhood,  could  scarcely  believe 
that  the  tall  youth,  with  firmness  and  character 
written  on  every  feature,  proclaiming  him  a  man 
in  spirit,  while  the  downy  cheek  and  insipient 
moustache  spoke  him  yet  a  boy  in  years,  was  the 
same  she  had  nursed :  but  she  found  that,  though 
hardened  to  battle  with  the  storms  of  life,  he  had 
lost  none  of  his  natural  amiability;  and  that  union 
of  gentleness  with  determination  in  the  cause  of 
right,  ever  so  beautiful  in  their  blending,  detracted 
nothing  from  the  character  of  her  favorite,  who, 
in  a  short  time,  became  a  greater  one  with  her  than 
ever. 

Aunt  Angela  was  the  same  as  ever ;  the  advance 
of  years  had  infused  no  sourness  into  the  disposi- 
tion of  her  who  was  now  a  determined  old  maid 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  315 

Crow's-feet  lurked  around  the  corners  of  her  once 
beautiful  eyes,  and  threads  of  silver  shone  among 
her  dark  locks ;  but  she  covered  the  one  with  a 
plain  cap,  and  the  winning  smile  that  played  on 
every  feature  of  her  pleasant  face  prevented  all 
notice  of  the  other.  Ready  as  ever  to  promote 
the  happiness  of  those  around  her,  she  still  was 
projecting  plans  for  the  improvement  or  amuse- 
ment of  those  she  loved  so  well ;  and  entered,  if 
not  into  the  feelings  of  youth,  at  least  into  the 
participation  of  it,  as  it  was  called  forth  by  her 
own  efforts  in  the  domestic  circle. 

"  Tell  me,  girls,"  said  she  one  evening,  when 
they  were  all  gathered  around  her  except  Pauline, 
"  tell  me,  are  you  not  sorry  to  have  missed  the 
great  party  given  by  the  Princess  Sulkony  ?  You 
have  lost  all  that  by  coming  to  the  country ;  all 
the  world  was  there,  Einma." 

"  Where  you  there,  aunty?"  asked  Pauline,  who 
just  looked  in  for  a  moment. 

"  No  indeed ;  what  business  would  a  plain  old 
maid  like  myself  have  there?"  was  her  reply  ;  and 
then,  in  a  jesting  manner,  described  the  affair  as 
she  had  heard  of  it  from  some  of  the  guests  who 
were  present.  The  dresses  worn  were  splendid;  the 
ladies  blazed  with  jewels;  the  arrangements  — 
nothing  was  ever  seen  in  the  capital  to  equal  them ; 
it  was  all  fairy -like,  a  scene  of  perfect  enchantment 
48* 


316  THE    XEIOIIBORS'    CHILDREN. 

Adie  made  no  other  answer  than  by  laughingly 
jingling  her  mother's  hunch  of  keys  close  to  her 
good  aunt's  ear,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  the 
auricular  nerves :  and  Emma,  flying  to  the  open 
piano,  after  playing  a  short  symphony,  struck  into 
a  song,  half  lively,  half  serious. 

Who  can's  for  the  towrt,  when  the  country's  so  fair, 
With  its  cool  shady  woods,  and  soft  .summer  air; 
Where  flowers  on  the  hillsides  more  brilliantly  .glance, 
Than  fair  ladies  robed  for  the  court  or  the  dance. 

Where  the  violet  sends   forth  her  sweet  breath  on  the 

breeze, 

And  voices  are  whispering  among  the  green  trees  ; 
Mysterious  and  holy  they  fall  on  the  ear, 
Like  music  that  swells  from  a  loftier  sphere ; 
And  speaks  of  a  world  where  in  beauty  arrayed 
No  blossom  e're  withers,  no  flowers  e'er  fade. 

0  give  me  the  country,  with  valley  and  plain, 
With  rude  mountain  crest  and  soft  waving  grain  ; 
Which  speak  to  the  heart  while  charming  the  eye, 
Of  the  goodness  that  still  every  want  will  supply. 

When  o'er  the  gay  city  still  evening  shall  fall, 
And  fair  dames  issue  forth  enrobed  for  the  ball, 
'  The  court,  or  the  revel — /would  not  be  there, 
For  here  in  our  home  'tis  the  season  for  prayer. 
And  listening  angels  that  bend  from  the  skies, 
Smile  on  us  while  watching  our  pure  sacrifice. 

Pauline,  who  had  too  much  business  on  her 
hands  to  care  for  the  princess  or  her  party,  waited 
until  her  sister  had  finished  her  ballad,  (for  although 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  317 

not  present  at  the  beginning,  she  had  come  in  in 
time  to  hear  the  latter  part  of  the  description,)  and 
now  coming  up  to  her  aunt,  she  opened  her  apron, 
which,  until  this  moment,  she  had  held  gathered  in 
a  bundle  before,  and  displayed  the  treasure  it  con- 
tained. A  dozen  of  black  and  yellow  chickens, 
not  more  than  a  day  old,  set  up  a  chirping  as  they 
met  the  light,  and  peals  of  laughter  burst  from  all. 

u  That  will  do,  little  sister,"  cried  Felix;  "you 
are  our  little  Pauline  still,  though  grown  so  tall ; 
but  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  chickens  ? 
have  you  the  charge  of  the  poultry-yard  ?" 

"Not  altogether,"  said  she,  laughing;  "you 
see  I  can  now  not  only  bear  to  be  laughed  at,  but 
I  can  laugh  with  you,  even  when  myself  is  the 
subject ;  but  I  have  brought  my  chickens  here  to 
have  them  named.  I  want  the  largest  called 
Felix.  But  indeed,  dear  aunty,  I  have  no  time 
to  grieve  over  the  loss  of  the  party.  Who  would 
be  shut  up  in  a  ball-room,  though  ever  so  much 
decorated,  when  they  can  run  over  the  fields, 
where  the  fresh  flowers  are  growing,  and  smell 
so  sweet?  And  in  our  tulip-beds  there  are  a  more 
richly  dressed  company  than  that  of  the  Princess 
Sulkony ;  and  as  for  dancing,  my  chickens  jump 
about  and  are  a  thousand  times  more  active  than 

the  best  of  them,  not  excepting  Major  D ,  in 

his  nice  white  kid  gloves !" 


318  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

"Indeed!"  said  her  aunt  in  mock  astonishment; 
you  must  have  learned  such  renunciation  of  what 
you  cannot  obtain  from  Gellert's  Fables,  that  you 
so  loved  when  a  child  —  something  like  the  fox 
when  he  could  not  reach  the  grapes." 

And  the  happy  maidens,  full  of  the  gleesome 
spirit  of  youth,  entwined  their  arms  around  the 
neck  of  their  beloved  aunt,  and  half  smothered 
her,  as  they  stopped  her  jesting  mouth  with  kisses. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  319 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"His  purpose  is  not  to  appear  just,  but  to  be." 

LEAVING  the  Steinrode  family  in  the  possession 
of  as  much  happiness  as  ever  falls  to  the  lot  of 
man,  we  look  once  more  into  the  attic  chamber 
which  the  Lady  Von  Grosse  still  occupied  with  her 

children,  in  the  great  city  of  W .  The  Easter 

holidays  had  come ;  and  never  had  a  more  beauti- 
ful  morning  risen  upon  the  earth  than  that  which 
heralded  the  Monday  of  Whitsuntide.  The  city 
hells  rung  out  a  merry  peal,  and  cheerful  tones  of 
gleeful  children  echoed  from  the  street  —  all  told 
of  a  rejoicing  world ;  hut  the  sleepers  in  that 
low-roofed  room  awoke  not.  The  bullfinch  in  his 
cage,  which  hung  above  Melanie's  bed,  twittered 
and  piped  his  loudest ;  but  she  did  not  awake  until 
in  its  fluttering  he  shook  down  some  hemp-seed 
into  her  face,  and  then,  astonished  at  her  own 
slothfulness,  in  an  instant  she  was  up. 

Dressing  hastily,  but  quietly,  for  fear  of  dis- 
turbing her  mother,  she  first  performed  her  devo- 
tional duties,  which  now  she  never  forgot ;  and 
next  began  her  preparations  for  the  family  break- 
fast, a  task  which  it  was  always  her's  to  execute. 


320  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

But  as  she  left  the  room  to  get  something  she 
wanted,  she  perceived  the  door  of  the  outer  room 
where  Eugene  slept  was  open,  and  himself  absent. 
Astonished  at  this  movement,  she  was  also  disap- 
pointed ;  for  she  had  prepared  a  little  surprise  for 
both,  and  she  felt  that  if  he  was  not  at  the  table 
her  plan  would  but  half  succeed. 

Both  her  mother  and  Eugene  were  particularly 
fond  of  coffee  ;  and  as  that  was  a  luxury  in  which 
they  seldom  allowed  themselves  to  indulge,  she 
had  made  some  sacrifices,  in  order  to  procure  a 
small  quantity,  whereby  to  prepare  a  sort  of  feast 
on  this  high  holiday ;  and  was  now  cooking  it, 
instead  of  their  usual  milk  porridge,  in  another 
part  of  the  house. 

All  was  ready  before  her  mother  awoke ;  her 
little  table  was  spread  with  a  nice  white  cloth,  cups 
were  placed  on  a  waiter,  and  the  sugar  basin  was 
filled  with  sugar. 

"  Melanie,  my  dear,"  said  the  astonished  mother, 
when  on  rising  she  saw  the  preparation  for  what 
they  now  considered  a  sumptuous  breakfast,  "  where 
did  you  get  all  this?  Eugene  told  me  his  master 
had  not  paid  him  for  his  last  week's  work,  and  I 
hope  you  have  not  gone  in  debt  to  provide  us  with 
a  Whitsun  feast." 

"No  indeed,  mother,"  was  the  reply,  "I  did 
not  do  any  such  foolish  thing.  I  took  a  simpler, 
and  I  hope,  a  wiser  plan.  I  have  so  much  hah 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  ^21 

that  it  gives  me  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  makes 
me  break  so  many  combs.  One  day,  not  long 
since,  when  I  went  into  the  hair-dresser's  shop  to 
buy  one,  he  noticed  the  great  quantity,  and  re- 
marked that  I  could  spare  a  good  handful,  and  not 
miss  it ;  besides  I  could  get  a  good  price  for  it. 
So  I  cut  out  some  locks  and  took  them  to  him,  and 
he  paid  me  willingly  and  well ;  and  now  I  have  not 
half  so  much  trouble  to  keep  it  in  order.  It  often 
took  up  more  time  than  I  had  to  spare,  and  I  am 
sure,  mother,  you  can't  miss  it ;  I  have  one  trouble 
less,  and  one  pleasure  more,  since  I  am  able  to  get 
up  a  little  feast  for  you  and  Eugene  on  this 
glorious  holiday." 

The  mother  was  about  to  answer,  but  at  that 
moment  the  room  door  opened,  and  Eugene  entered, 
bearing  a  packet  in  one  hand,  and  a  bunch  of 
odorous  spring  flowers  in  the  other. 

"  There,  Melanie,"  said  he,  as  he  handed  her 
the  bouquet,  "  that  is  for  you — you  love  flowers  so 
well,  and  are  kept  so  closely  at  work  in  this  dull 
chamber,  that  you  see  nothing  of  gardens  or 
flowers,  except  it  may  be  now  and  then  through 
some  open  gates ;  so  that  is  your  gift.  Here, 
mother,  is  something  of  a  different  sort  for  you." 
Laughing  as  he  spoke,  he  opened  the  paper  parcel, 
and  a  large  brown  Streitzel  koche,  freshly  baked 
and  odorous  with  spices,  lay  within.  "  I  know  you 
loved  it,  mother  ;  and  as  for  myself,  I  often  thought 


THE  NEIGHBORS  CHILDREN. 

of  the  Hausdorff  Streitzeh  when  I  was  munching 
gritz  in  Poland.  But  I  must  say,  I  believe  the 
gritz  did  me  more  good  than  the  cakes  at  the  castle. 

"  My  dear  good  children,"  said  Lady  Von 
Grosse,  "I  do  not  regret  the  luxuries  of  Hausdorff 
now ;  heaven  has  granted  me  purer,  better  bless- 
ings in  this  my  poverty  than  I  ever  knew  there.  The 
Holy  Spirit,  whose  office  is  love,  has  operated 
upon  your  hearts ;  and  since  I  have  found  accep- 
tance with  God,  and  receive  daily  testimony  that 
you,  my  beloved  ones,  are  likewise  of  the  house- 
hold of  faith,  I  want  nothing  more.  I  am  super- 
abundantly rich — the  measure  of  my  happiness  is 
full  and  overflowing." 

Eugene  kissed  the  hand  that  rested  caressingly 
on  his  sunburnt  brow ;  and  then  turning  to  his 
sister,  said,  in  a  tone  of  half  command  and  half 
entreaty,  "  Come,  Melanie,  you  are  house-keeper, 
cook,  and  everything  else.  Let  us  have  breakfast, 
I  am  sure  it  will  be  a  glorious  one,  for  I  think 
from  the  signs  on  the  table  you  have  something 
very  good  behind  the  scenes.  Whether  yourself 
or  some  good  fairy  has  provided  it,  bring  it  forth 
now,  for  I  have  a  great  appetite  for  this  holiday 
meal.  Give  me  your  cup,  mother,  I  will  pour  out 
(you  know  Mademoiselle  Adele  used  to  say  that 
was  the  French  fashion,)  while  Melanie  cuts  the 
cake." 

But,  notwithstanding  his  great  appetite,  Eugene 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  323 

had  yet  to  wait  for  his  breakfast ;  for  ere  Melanie 
could  place  the  odorous  beverage  on  the  table,  a 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door.  Eugene  rose  to  open 
it,  and  a  man,  whom  they  knew  to  be  a  letter 
carrier,  handed  him  a  letter  and  parcel.  But  now  an 
unforeseen  difficulty  arose  ;  the  postman  must  have 
his  fee,  and  there  was  not  one  farthing  in  the 
house.  Eugene  groped  in  one  pocket  after  another, 
but  all  were  alike  empty.  He  blushed  to  the 
temples  while  the  man  stood  waiting  ;  his  master 
owed  him  a  week's  wages,  and  had  promised  to  pay 
him  at  noon,  but  what  of  that — he  wanted  it  now. 
Melanie  cast  down  her  eyes  to  the  floor ;  she  had 
nothing  left  from  her  holiday  purchases. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  of  us  getting  a  letter, 
we  have  no  friends,"  she  said  to  herself;  ah  !  I  am 
afraid  I  have  been  too  extravagant,  for  maybe  the 
sugar  was  too  great  a  luxury  for  us,  now  that  we 
are  so  poor." 

"  I  can  come  again,"  said  the  good-natured  post- 
man, as  he  remarked  the  embarrassment  of  the 
family  ;  "  I  know  this  young  man  to  be  the  same 
who  held  back  the  wild  horse  of  the  Count  Von 
Holm,  when  he  was  about  to  tread  on  my  child, 
whom  he  had  thrown  down.  The  Count  is  a  good- 
hearted  gentleman,  though  a  little  too  fond  of  frolic ; 
and  he  was  returning  from  a  wine  party  when  he 
rode  over  my  boy,  who  was  playing  in  the  street. 
He  has  been  asking  for  the  brave  vonne1  tradesman 
49 


324  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

who  sprang  out  of  the  window  of  a  workshop  and 
held  back  the  horse  at  his  own  risk ;  he  called  on 
me  to  say  that  ten  ducats  were  ready  for  the 
young  man's  acceptance  as  soon  as  he  chose  to 
claim  them.  He  did  not  know  where  to  find  you, 
nor  I  neither ;  but  I  know  you  to  be  the  same,  and 
I  hope  God  will  reward  you  for  that  kind  act  a 
thousand  times." 

"  Bid  you  really  do  this,  my  son,"  cried  the 
overjoyed  mother,  "  and  never  mentioned  it  to  your 
sister  or  myself?" 

"  I  did  not  think  it  worth  talking  about,  mother  ; 
it  was  no  more  than  any  one  else  would  have  done," 
answered  Eugene ;  and  turning  once  more  to  the 
postman,  said,  "You  will  have  to  trust  me  for  a 
short  time,  my  good  man,  for  I  really  have  not  a 
penny  at  present.  But  I  will  not  be  long  in  your 
debt.  I  will  carry  you  the  money  this  evening  ; 
and  you  may  tell  your  boy  I  am  coming  to  see  him. 
In  the  meantime,  carry  him  this  piece  of  cake  for 
me.  So  now,  Melanie,  you  may  pour  out  your- 
self; fill  up  a  brimming  cup  for  me,  for  I  am  too 
hungry  now  to  care  about  French  fashions,  or 
think  much  about  Mademoiselle  Adele." 

The  pleased  postman  closed  the  door  and  disap- 
peared. Lady  Von  Grosse  and  her  children  sat 
down  to  their  delayed  breakfast ;  and  as  they 
laughed  and  chatted  over  their  holiday  fare,  they 
forgot  the  letter  and  its  accompanying  present  for 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  325 

a  short  space.  But  when  they  opened  the  missive, 
it  was  with  great  surprise  they  found  it  from 
Amade,  from  whom  they  never  expected  to  hear. 
It  ran  thus :  — 

"  To  Lady  Von  Grosse  : — Heaven  be  praised,  I 
found  the  spot  in  the  wood  where  I  left  the  casket, 
and  it  safely  hidden  beneath  the  stones.  I  am 
glad  to  restore  what  remains  of  the  jewels  into  the 
hands  of  the  true  owners,  whom  I  am  sure  will 
now  make  a  better  use  of  them  than  I  did  of  those 
that  are  gone.  The  money  that  lies  in  the  bottom 
•>f  the  box  you  may  use ;  it  was  fairly  gained,  and 
is  your  own,  most  of  it  being  the  price  of  the 
jewels  I  sold.  Think  of  me  as  one  deeply  repent- 
ant, and  forgive  the  wrong  I  wrought  upon  you. 
May  God,  who  in  mercy  led  me  to  see  my  sinful 
ways,  and  strengthened  me  to  resist  temptation, 
bless  you  all.  I  shall  see  you  no  more  in  this 
world.  The  ship  is  ready  to  sail,  and  in  another 
hour  I  shall  be  on  the  way  to  America. — Amade." 

And  there,  forming  a  strong  contrast  to  all  else 
in  that  humble  room,  and  the  rude  table  whereon 
it  lay,  the  bright  gems  within  that  casket  of  polished 
steel  flashed  and  glittered  in  the  brilliant  sunshine 
that  came  dancing  through  the  window.  He  shone 
as  gaily  on  those  few  precious  stones,  the  sole 
remainder  of  their  once  princely  possessions,  as  he 
had  done  on  the  smoking  ruins  of  their  lordly 
castle  of  Hausdorff:  for  Nature,  in  all  man's 


326  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

changes  remains  the  same.  The  seasons  alter 
according  to  the  appointment  of  heaven  ;  the  sun 
holds  on  his  course,  the  rains  "fall  alike  on  tho 
just  and  unjust,"  and  seed-time  and  harvest  come 
at  their  times  of  the  Almighty  bidding.  Yet  man 
and  his  concerns  are  not  unmarked  by  the  Heavenly 
Eye — the  sun  in  his  glory  seems  to  mock  the  sad, 
and  tempests  lower  around  the  gay  and  the  happy. 
To  them  is  appointed  terms  which  they  cannot 
pass  ;  but  to  man,  the  chosen  creature  of  its  mercy, 
heaven  is  ever  accessible. 

The  little  group  gazed  in  silence  on  those  glitter- 
ing gems;  the  deep  emotion  and  various  thoughts 
that  filled  the  heart  of  each  was  too  great  for 
words.  Eugene  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Now,  mother,"  said  he,  "my  way  is  clear.  I 
can  now  pay  my  debt  of  borrowed  money  to  Ilor- 
witz,  and  set  up  a  cabinet-making  shop  for  myself. 
I  am  determined  never  to  indulge  in  a  life  of  idle- 
ness;  I  must  have  something  to  do;  and  with 
God's  help,  I  will  persevere  in  trying  to  do  good." 

Lady  Von  Grosse  answered  not,  for  she  had  not 
heard  one  word  of  what  her  son  had  spoken.  She 
was  lost  in  deep  thought,  for  she  recognised  now 
more  plainly  than  ever  the  wonder-working  Hand 
of  God,  which  had  led  them  through  such  deep 
waters  to  a  secure  haven.  ^Yhat  were  they  —  the 
thoughtless,  the  deeply  sinning  —  that  lie  should 
thus  seek  to  reclaim  their  wanderings  by  a  chastise- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  327 

meat  that  had  so  tended  to  the  healing  of  their 
souls  ?  She  felt  that  it  was  all  of  mercy ;  and  the 
beautiful  passage  of  Holy  Writ  occurred  to  her 
musing  mind :  "  Can  man  be  profitable  to  God,  as 
he  that  is  wise  may  be  profitable  to  himself?  Is 
it  any  pleasure  to  the  Almighty  that  thou  art 
righteous  ?  or  is  it  gain  to  him  that  thou  makest 
thy  ways  perfect  ?  Will  he  reprove  thee  for  fear 
of  thee  ?  will  he  enter  with  thee  into  judgment  ?  " 
No,  not  for  this,  but  because  he  loves  the  creatures 
he  has  made,  and  wills  not  that  any  should  perish. 
Has  he  not  manifested  this  love  in  that  he  opened 
a  Way  to  everlasting  life  ?  has  he  not,  in  the  per- 
son of  the  Saviour,  exhibited  Truth  in  her  loveliest 
form  before  him  ?  Has  he  not,  in  his  great  com- 
passion, given  his  Son  as  a  Great  High  Priest,  who, 
touched  with  the  feelings  of  man's  infirmities, 
stands  forth  his  "Advocate"  and  friend? 

She  who  once  had  been  the  owner  of  a  lordly 
castle,  and  was  now  the  inmate  of  a  low-ceiled 
garret  room,  acknowledged  this  present  time  to  be 
the  happiest  portion  of  her  life,  inasmuch  as  she 
now  knew  what  a  great  treasure  she  possessed  in 
her  children.  But  would  they  have  proved  such  a 
blessing  to  her  old  age  as  they  promised  to  be,  had 
they  not  been  taught  in  the  school  of  Adversity  ? 
And  as  she  thought  over  the  bitter  sorrow  caused 
through  the  wrong  done  her  by  her  faithless 
servant,  Amade',  she  felt  that  from  her  heart  ahe 
40* 


328     THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

could  forgive  him  ;  no  bitterness  filled  her  soul 
against  one,  whose  sin  against  herself  had  been 
the  means  of  bringing  forth  an  end  so  desirable. 

Eugene  did  not  on  this  holiday  go  out  to  seek 
the  revel,  nor  the  companionship  of  his  fellow-work- 
men. He  thought  over  what  was  now  his  duty  : 
and  sitting  down  at  the  table,  he  wrote  several 
letters.  The  Srst  was  to  Horwitz,  to  whom  he  en- 
closed money  to  the  amount  of  his  debt,  and 
another  very  long  one  to  Felix,  in  which  he 
detailed  all  his  adventures  since  the  time  of  their 
separation,  his  present  abode  and  prospects,  and 
the  repentance  and  fate  of  Amade  and  the  villain- 
ous old  Simon,  who,  we  before  forgot  to  say,  had 
met  the  punishment  he  so  well  merited,  being  con- 
demned to  the  galleys  for  life. 

Melanie,  too,  in  her  present  improved  condition 
did  not  forget  those  who  had  befriended  her  in  her 
days  of  darkness ;  she  busied  herself  in  preparing 
some  useful  presents  for  the  collier's  family ;  and 
as  each  one  was  remembered,  she  made  up  quite  a 
large  packet,  which  she  afterwards  heard  had 
reached  them  in  safety. 

Eugene's  letter  found  its  way  to  Steinrode, 
where  it  was  received  with  real  joy.  Baron  Linden- 
burg,  not  having  heard  of  the  Count's  death, 
had  written  twice,  and  the  new  forest  warden  had 
answered  the  last  one.  After  stating  that  his 
predecessor  had  died  away  from  home,  and  his 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  329 

own  appointment  to  the  place,  he  coldly  mentioned 
that  the  widow  and  her  daughter  had  left  the 
forest  lodge  to  make  room  for  his  family,  and  were 
gone  he  knew  not  where.  It  is  astonishing  that 
human  beings,  liable  to  meet  the  same  misfortunes, 
sympathize  so  little  with  each  other;  but  so  it  is; 
we  see  or  feel  it  every  day. 

The  interest,  however,  of"this  Christian  family 
was  not  diminished  in  the  fate  of  those  whose 
affairs  were,  for  a  time,  so  strangely  blended  up 
with  their  own  ;  and  when  Felix  answered  Eugene's 
letter,  the  Baron  bade  him  say  he  thought  the^F 
had  better  remove  to  the  neighborhood  of  Steinrode, 
which,  in  a  short  time  afterwards,  they  really  did. 

Again  they  were  entertained  for  a  time  beneath 
its  hospitable  roof;  but  not  again  was  their  sojourn 
productive  of  pain  to  their  kind  host.  The  spirit 
of  grace  had  so  changed  their  hearts,  that  they 
could  not  have  been  recognised  by  any  one  as  the 
arrogant,  overbearing  children  of  other  days,  who 
had  been  wont  to  compare  the  now  graceful  Linden- 
burgs  to  dancing  bears. 

Eugene  purchased  a  small  piece  of  ground,  on 
which  he  built  a  neat  house  and  work-shop,  carry- 
ing on  his  business  with  all  industry  and  diligence. 
Baron  Lindendurg  sustained  him  both  by  counsel 
and  pecuniary  aid,  witnessing  with  great  delight, 
from  day  to  day,  the  wonderful  transformation 
made  in  his  character. 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

Lady  Von  Grosse  now  lived  contented  and  in 
great  comfort  with  her  children  ;  differently,  indeed, 
from  the  manner  in  which  she  had  done  at  the  time 
we  first  introduced  her  to  our  readers  ;  but  happier 
by  far  in  her  humbler  life,  than  she  had  ever  been 
in  her  days  of  luxury.  Eugene  was  affectionate 
and  kind ;  Melanie  everything  that  her  mother 
could  wish ;  and  a  pleasant  day  was  always  antici- 
pated at  Steinrode  when  they  made  a  weekly  visit 
there,  a  rule  which  they  regularly  observed. 

Eugene  succeeded  well  in  his  undertaking.  He 
purchased  his  materials  with  great  foresight, 
managed  his  affairs  with  the  caution  that  belonged 
to  more  experienced  years  ;  and  the  consequences 
of  his  thrift  were  soon  visible  in  his  increasing  pros- 
perity. He  soon  ceased  to  work  himself,  for  his 
business,  ere  long,  became  so  large  that  he  had 
enough  to  do  to  keep  his  books,  and  conduct  the 
arrangements  of  his  buying  and  selling.  And 
right  happy  was  he,  that  once  idle,  self-willed 
Eugene,  in  the  knowledge  that  his  industry  had 
prepared  so  pleasant  a  home  for  his  mother  in  her 
old  age,  and  that  he  could  furnish  Melanie  with 
not  only  necessary  comforts,  but  many  things 
which  she  once  did  not  think  of  enjoying,  and  now 
considered  luxuries. 

Felix  assisted  his  father  in  the  farming  and 
management  of  the  broad  lands  of  Steinrode,  and 
bid  fair  to  make  quite  as  good  a  landlord  when  he 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  331 

should  be  called  on  to  fill  his  place.  The  tenants 
loved  him,  the  poor  blessed  him,  and  to  his  family 
he  was  a  treasure.  The  blemish  of  impatience, 
•which  had  once  marred  his  character,  became 
entirely  obliterated ;  and  the  thoughtlessness  that 
had  more  than  once  led  to  such  sad  consequences, 
•was  carefully  guarded  against.  Not  but  that 
natural  propensities  sometimes  rose  up  to  tempt 
him  in  his  steady  purposes,  but  Adversity  had 
taught  him  to  resist  their  influence,  and  Grace 
strengthened  him  to  overcome. 

Herman,  according  to  his  wish  ever  from  boy- 
hood, prosecuted  his  studies  as  a  physician,  for 
which  his  cairn,  steady  disposition  well  fitted  him. 
He  settled  in  the  capital,  and  in  time  rose  to  emi- 
nence and  distinction ;  and  until  he  had  an  estab- 
lishment of  his  own,  and  had  chosen  a  helpmate 
for  life,  aunt  Angela  conducted  the  affairs  of  his 
household.  There,  then,  under  his  roof  the  Linden- 
burg  family  passed  a  month  every  winter ;  yet 
always  returning  with  joyful  longing  to  Steinrode, 
that  dear  old  home  of  which  they  never  tired. 

The  best  of  news  reached  them  from  time  to 
time  from  that  distant  land  whither  Ehrenfried  and 
his  patron  had  gone.  Many  letters  were  inter- 
changed between  Felix  and  his  friend  ;  and  many 
beautiful  specimens  of  entomology  and  botany  were 
sent  by  the  latter,  to  increase  the  collection  at 
Steinrode ;  for  the  former,  in  becoming  a  farmer, 


332  THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN. 

had  lost  none  of  his  love  for  Natural  History,  but 
studied  the  science,  and  made  discoveries  in  it, 
that  gave  him  a  name  conspicuous  among  accom- 
plished Naturalists. 

years  passed  over,  and  it  seemed  as  if  Time  in 
his  flight  still  increased  -.their  happiness  and  their 
blessings.  Piety  was  the  foundation  of  their  joy ; 
why  should  it  not  be  lasting  ?  They  knew  that  all 
things  on  earth  are  subject  to  change  ;  but  theirs 
was  the  faith  that  bade  them  look  further  than  this 
world,  whose  fashion  is  soon  to  pass  away.  They 
knew,  too,  that  when  the  "  house  of  the  earthly 
tabernacle"  was  destroyed,  they  were  told  of  hope 
for  "  one  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the 
heavens,"  and  although  "  on  earth  there  is  no  con- 
tinuing city,"  they  could  confidently  look  forward 
to  "one  whose  builder  and  whose  maker  is  God." 

At  length  a  letter  came  from  Mr.  Norman  to 
the  Baron.  He  wrote  that  having  sojourned  in  the 
New  World  until  he  was  weary  of  hot  suns,  orange 
groves,  reptiles,  and  fevers,  he  intended  returning 
in  the  course  of  a  few  months  with  Ehrenfried, 
whom  he  had  formally  adopted  as  his  son.  He 
bade  him  apprize  the  young  man's  mother,  who 
was  still  living,  and  through  the  joint  care  of  the 
good  old  Englishman  and  the  Baron,  in  great 
comfort,  in  a  cottage  of  her  own,  that  they  would 
proceed  immediately  to  Steinrode,  "where,"  said 
the  old  man  in  his  letter,  "according  to  our  agree- 


THE  NEIGHBORS'  CHILDREN.  333 

ment,  I  wish  to  make  a  long  visit  in  your  happy 
family. 

The  tidings  were  received  joyfully  by  all. 
Ehrenfried's  mother  folded  her  hands  in  acknowledg- 
ment to  heaven,  while  tears  flowed  down  her  aged 
cheeks.  The  Lindenburg  children  (for  we  still  will 
call  them  so,)  hastened  to  tell  Eugene  and  Melanie 
the  news.  A  deep  blush  dyed  the  cheeks  of  the 
latter,  as  she  heard  the  name  of  Ehrenfried  —  she 
had  not  forgotten  the  affair  of  the  bracelet,  and 
her  heart  was  pained  at  the  idea  of  meeting  one 
whom  she  had  once  used  so  ill. 

"  I  will  try  by  every  means  in  my  power  to 
make  him  forget  it,"  said  she  to  Felix. 

Eugene  was  overwhelmed  with  shame,  as  he  re- 
called his  own  arrogant  behaviour  to  the  gentle 
peasant  boy. 

"But  his  is  a  noble  spirit,"  said  he,  "and  he 
will  forgive  us,  I  am  sure.  Felix,  I  will  make  him 
love  me ;  I  will  leave  no  means  untried  to  win  his 
confidence ;  and  then,  once  more  united  in  the 
social  circle,  there  shall  not  be  found,  neither  far 
nor  near,  better  friends  than  the  'NEIGHBORS* 
CHILDREN.'  " 

THE   END. 


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